MARGARET 
MONTFORT 


SLAURA-E 
RICHARDS 


EDDCAT10H  LIBB. 


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MARGARET    MONTFORT 


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MARGARET     MOXTFOKT. 


MARGARET  MONTFORT 


BY 

LAURA    E.    RICHARDS 

AUTHOR  OF  "  CAPTAIK  JANUARY,"   "  MELODY,' 
"  QUEEN  HILDEGARDE,"  ETC. 


Illustrate  fcg 
ETHELDRED    B.   BARRY 


BOSTON 
DANA  ESTES  &  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1898 
BY  DANA  ESTES  &  COMPANY 


-Education 

GIFT 


Colonial 

Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  C.  H.  Simonds  &  Co. 
Boston,  U.S.A. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTE 
I. 

TT 

R 

PRESENT  AND  ABSENT       .        . 

PAGE 
11 
.             25 

JLL* 
III. 

THE  UNEXPECTED       .         •        • 

.        .'       44 

IV. 

THE  TRIALS  OF  MARGARET 

.61 

V. 

A  NEW  TYPE      .       .  •        • 

.        .        77 

VI. 

A  LESSON  IN  GEOGRAPHY         » 

.        .96 

VII. 

THE  DAUNTLESS  THREE    . 

.        .       114 

VIII. 

THE  FIRST  CONQUEST 

.       129 

IX. 

A  NEWCOMER      .         .         . 

.       145 

X. 

«  I   MUST    HELP   MYSELF  "      . 

V      164 

XI. 

THE  SECOND  CONQUEST     .        .    . 

.       179 

XII. 

THE  VOICE  OF  FERXLEY    . 

.     .    .       195 

XIII. 

WHO  DID  IT?     . 

212 

XIV. 

BLACK  SPIRITS  AND  WHITE 

.       231 

XV. 

A  DEPARTURE      .... 

.       249 

XVI. 

PEACE          .        . 

.       264 

333 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE 

MARGARET  MONTFORT     .        .        .        •         Frontispiece 

"AFTERWARDS    SHE    SALLIED    OUT    INTO     THE    GAR-* 

DEN  "         .     .  .  .  .  .  .  .         63 

"<DlD     YOU      BRING     A     BOOK     TO     READ      TO     ME, 

LITTLE    GIRL?'"  .  .    .       ,  .  .  .         84 

"THE    LITTLE    GIRL    HAD    NEVER    STIRRED,    BUT 
STOOD    GAZING    UP   AT    THE    BIG    MAN   WHO 

HELD  HER  HANDS "  .         .        .        ...  120 

«MERTON  WAS  TEASING  CHIQUITO"       .  .  153 

"'WON'T  YOU  COME  IN?'"     .        .        .        .        .  175 

A  LIVELY  GHOST       .        .        ...        .        .  247 

« THE  < FLAIL  OF  THE  DESERT '"   .        .        *  268 


MARGARET   MONTFORT. 


CHAPTER  I. 

PKESENT   AND   ABSENT. 

"!T  shall  be  exactly  as  you  please,  my 
dear !  "  said  Mr.  Montfort.  "  I  have  no  wish 
in  the  matter,  save  to  fulfil  yours.  I  had 
thought  it  would  be  pleasanter,  perhaps,  to 
have  the  rooms  occupied;  but  your  feeling  is 
most  natural,  and  there  is  no  reason  why  you 
should  not  keep  your  present  room." 

"Thank  you,  uncle!"  said  the  girl  whom 
he  addressed  as  Margaret,  and  whom  some  of 
my  readers  may  have  met  before.  "  It  is  not 
that  I  don't  love  the  dear  rooms,  nor  that  it 
would  not  be  a  joy  to  be  in  them,  for  some 
reasons  ;  but,  —  I  think,  just  to  go  and  sit 
there  every  day,  alone  or  with  you,  and  think 

11 


12  MARGARET   MONTFORT. 

about  her,  —  it  seems  as  if  that  would  be 
easier  just  now,  dear  uncle.  You  always 
understand,  Uncle  John  !  " 

Mr.  Montfort  nodded,  and  puffed  thought 
fully  at  his  cigar.  The  two,  uncle  and  niece, 
were  sitting  on  the  wide  verandah  of  Fernley 
House ;  it  was  a  soft,  fair  June  evening,  and 
the  fireflies  were  flitting  through  the  trees, 
and  one  or  two  late  birds  were  chirping 
drowsily.  There  were  only  the  two  of  them 
at  Fernley  now,  for  one  day,  some  two  months 
ago,  the  beloved  Aunt  Faith  had  fallen  quietly 
asleep,  and  passed  in  sleep  away  from  age  and 
weakness  and  weariness.  Margaret  missed  her 
sadly  indeed ;  but  there  was  no  bitterness  in 
her  grieving,  and  she  felt  all  the  more  need 
of  keeping  the  house  cheerful  and  bright  for 
her  uncle,  who  had  lost  the  faithful  and  affec 
tionate  friend  who  had  been  for  years  like  a 
second  mother  to  him.  They  talked  of  her 
a  great  deal,  of  the  beauty  and  helpfulness  of 
the  long  life  that  had  brought  so  much  joy  to 
others ;  just  now  Mr.  Montfort  had  proposed 
that  Margaret  should  occupy  the  White 
Rooms,  which  had  been  Mrs.  Cheriton's 


PRESENT    AND    ABSENT.  13 

special  apartments  in  the  great  rambling  house ; 
but  he  did  not  urge  the  matter,  and  they  sat 
in  silence  for  a  time,  feeling  the  soft  beauty 
of  the  evening  wrap  them  round  like  a  gar 
ment  of  rest. 

"  And  what  have  you  been  doing  all  day, 
while  I  was  in  town  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Montfort 
presently.  "  You  were  not  too  lonely,  May 
Margaret  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  not  a  bit  too  lonely;  just  enough 
to  make  it  very  good  to  have  one's  Uncle  John 
come  back.  Let  me  see !  After  you  went,  I 
fed  Chiquito,  and  stayed  with  him  quite  a 
while,  talking  and  singing.  He  is  so  pitiful, 
poor  old  fellow!  Then  I  took  a  walk,  and 
dropped  in  to  see  how  Mrs.  Peyton  was ;  she 
asked  me  to  come  in  the  morning,  you  know, 
when  I  could." 

"  And  how  was  she  ?     Superb  as  ever  ?  " 

"Just,  Uncle  John!  Her  dressing-jacket 
was  blue  this  time,  and  there  was  a  new  kind 
of  lace  on  her  pillows." 

"  Oh  !  she  has  lace  on  her  pillows,  has  she, 
my  dear?" 

"Didn't  I   tell  you,   uncle?     Pillows  and 


14  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

sheets  are  trimmed  with  real  lace,  most  mag 
nificent.  To-day  it  was  Valenciennes,  really 
lovely  Valenciennes,  to  match  her  cap  and  the 
frills  on  her  jacket.  And  turquoise  buttons 
and  cap-pins ;  oh,  she  was  a  vision  of  beauty, 
I  assure  you.  The  pale  pink  roses  on  the 
table  by  her  bed  gave  just  the  right  touch  to 
accentuate  —  if  that  is  what  I  mean  —  all  the 
blue.  She  is  an  artist  in  effects.  She  must 
have  been  very  beautiful,  Uncle  John  ?  She 
is  beautiful  now,  of  course,  only  so  worn  and 
fragile." 

"  Yes,  she  was  extremely  beautiful,  in  her 
way,"  said  Mr.  Montfort;  "and  she  was  al 
ways,  as  you  say,  an  artist  in  effects.  And 
in  a  good  many  other  things,"  he  murmured, 
half  under  his  breath.  "  She  was  glad  to  see 
you,  no  doubt,  my  child?" 

"  Oh,  yes ;  she  is  always  most  cordial  and 
kind.  She  made  me  tell  her  just  how  you 
were  looking,  —  she  always  does  that;  and 
what  you  were  doing." 

"  Emily  Peyton  is  a  singular  woman,"  said 
Mr.  Montfort,  thoughtfully.  "  She  suffers,  no 
doubt,  and  I  am  glad  if  you  can  be  a  comfort 


PRESENT   AND    ABSENT.  15 

to  her,  Margaret ;  but  be  a  little  careful,  my 
dear;  be  a  little  careful  with  Mrs.  Peyton! 
H'm !  ha !  yes,  my  love !  and  what  else  did 
you  say  you  had  done  to  amuse  yourself  ?" 

"  Why,  Uncle  John,  do  you  think  I  have  to 
be  amusing  myself  all  day  ?  What  a  frivolous 
creature  you  must  think  me !  I  practised 
after  I  came  home ;  and  then  I  had  lunch, 
and  then  I  arranged  the  flowers,  and  then  I 
made  some  buttonholes,  and  all  the  rest  of 
the  afternoon  I  sat  under  the  big  tulip-tree, 
reading  '  Henry  Esmond.'  So  you  see,  I 
have  really  had  the  most  delightful  day, 
Uncle  John." 

"Especially  the  last  part  of  it,"  said  her 
uncle,  smiling.  "Esmond  was  rather  more 
delightful  than  the  buttonholes,  eh,  Meg  ?  " 

"  Well,  possibly ! "  Margaret  admitted. 
"He  is  rather  more  delightful  than  almost 
anything  else,  isn't  he?  But  not  half  so  good 
as  one's  Uncle  John,  when  he  comes  home  in 
the  gloaming,  with  his  pockets  full  of  bonbons 
and  letters  for  his  unworthy  niece." 

"Flatterer!"  said  Mr.  Montfort.  "Does 
this  come  of  visiting  Mrs.  Peyton  ?  She  used 


16  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

to  be  an  adept  in  the  art.  But  what  do  our 
two  other  Margarets  say  ?  Has  Peggy  set  the 
prairies  on  fire  yet  ?  She  will  some  day,  you 
know." 

"  Do  you  think  the  mosquitoes  would  quite 
devour  us  if  I  brought  the  small  lamp  out 
here  ?  I  really  must  read  you  the  let 
ters,  and  it  is  too  lovely  to  go  in.  Shall 
I  try?" 

Margaret  brought  the  lamp,  and,  drawing 
a  letter  from  her  pocket,  began  to  read : 

"DARLING  MARGARET: 

"  I  was  so  glad  to  get  your  letter.  It  was  splen 
did,  and  I'm  going  to  copy  out  a  lot  of  the  things 
you  said,  and  pin  them  up  by  my  looking-glass.  My 
hair  will  not  part  straight,  because  I  have  the  most 
frightful  cowlick  — 

"  I  don't  believe  you  care  for  this  part,  do 
you,  Uncle  John  ?  Poor  little  Peggy's  diffi 
culties  are  very  funny  sometimes." 

"Why,  I  like  it  all,  Meg,  if  you  think 
Peggy  would  not  mind  my  hearing  it.  It 
is  all  sweet  and  wholesome,  I  know;  but 
leave  out  anything  you  think  I  should  not 
hear." 


PRESENT   AND    ABSENT.  17 

"  Oh,  there  isn't  anything,  really.  I'll  go 
on,  if  you  like.  Where  was  I  ?  Oh !  — 

"  The  most  frightful  cowlick.  The  reason  I  tried 
was  because  you  said  my  forehead  was  nice.  I  hope 
you  will  not  think  me  very  vain,  Margaret.  And 
you  know,  no  one  is  wearing  bangs  any  more,  not 
even  curly  ones.  So  I  have  put  it  straight  back 
now,  and  Pa  likes  it,  and  says  I  look  like  his 
mother.  Margaret,  will  you  try  to  get  me  the  re 
ceipt  for  barley  soup,  the  way  Frances  makes  it? 
Mother  isn't  well,  and  I  thought  I  would  try  if  I 
could  make  some.  I  think,  Margaret,  that  I  am 
going  to  find  something  I  can  really  do!  I  think 
it  is  cooking!  What  do  you  think  of  that?  Our 
cook  went  away  to  her  brother's  wedding  last  week, 
and  Mother  was  sick,  and  so  I  tried;  and  Pa  (I 
tried  saying  Father,  but  he  wouldn't  let  me!)  said 
the  things  tasted  good,  and  I  had  a  knack  for  flavour 
ing.  That  made  me  feel  so  happy,  Margaret!  Be 
cause  I  had  just  gone  ahead  till  I  thought  a  thing 
tasted  right.  I  did  not  want  to  be  bothering  'round 
with  cook-books,  and  besides,  ours  was  lost,  for 
Betsy  can't  read,  so  there  was  no  use  for  one.  I 
made  an  apple-pudding  yesterday,  and  Pa  had  two 
helps,  and  all  the  boys  wanted  three,  but  there 
wasn't  enough,  though  I  made  it  in  the  big  meat- 
pie  pan.  Darling  Margaret,  do  please  write  again 
very  soon,  and  tell  me  about  everything  at  dear, 


18  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

darling  Fernley.  How  is  Chiquito,  and  does  Uncle 
John  ever  speak  of  me  ?  I  miss  him  dreadfully,  but 
I  miss  you  most  of  all,  darling  Margaret,  —  I  never 
get  over  missing  you.  I  have  a  new  dog,  a  setter,  a 
perfect  beauty.  I  asked  Hugh  to  name  him  for  me, 
and  he  named  him  Hamlet,  because  he  was  black 
and  white,  and  Hugh  thought  he  was  going  to  be 
melancholy,  but  he  grins  and  wiggles  all  over  every 
time  you  look  at  him.  I  am  teaching  him  to  jump 
over  a  stick  and  he  does  it  beautifully,  —  only  the 
other  day  I  stood  too  near  the  looking-glass,  and  he 
jumped  into  that,  and  smashed  it,  and  frightened 
himself  almost  to  death,  poor  puppy.  Margaret,  I 
read  a  little  history  every  day,  —  not  very  much,  but 
I  think  of  you  when  I  read  it,  and  that  makes  it  bet 
ter.  Pa  says  I  am  going  to  school  next  year ;  won't 
that  be  fun  ?  Hugh  is  reading  '  John  Brent '  to  me  in 
the  evenings.  Oh,  how  perfectly  splendid  it  is !  If 
I  had  a  horse  like  Fulano,  I  would  live  with  him  all 
the  time,  and  never  leave  him  for  five  minutes.  I 
want  dreadfully  to  go  out  west  and  find  Luggernel 
Alley.  Hugh  says  perhaps  we  shall  go  some  day, 
just  him  and  me.  That  doesn't  look  right,  Margaret, 
but  I  tried  writing  « he  and  I '  on  a  piece  of  paper, 
and  it  didn't  look  any  better,  so  I  guess  I'll  leave 
it  as  it  is.  Do  you  think  I  write  better  ?  I  am  try 
ing  to  take  a  lot  of  pains.  I  try  to  think  of  all  the 
things  you  tell  me,  dear  Margaret.  Mother  thinks  I 
am  doing  better,  I  know.  Mother  and  I  have  real 


PRESENT   AND    ABSENT.  19 

good  talks  together,  like  we  never  used  to  before, 
and  she  tells  me  what  she  used  to  do  when  she  was 
a  girl.  I  guess  she  had  some  pretty  hard  times.  I 
guess  I'm  a  pretty  lucky  girl,  Margaret.  Now  I  must 
go  and  get  mother's  supper.  Give  lots  and  lots  of 
love  to  Uncle  John,  and  some  to  Elizabeth  and 
Frances,  and  say  —  I  can't  spell  it,  but  the  Spanish 
thing  I  learned  —  to  poor  Chiquito.  But  most  love 
of  all  to  your  own,  dear,  darling  self,  Margaret,  from 

"PEGGY." 

Mr.  Montfort  curled  his  moustaches  in 
silence  for  some  minutes,  when  the  reading 
was  over. 

"  Dear  little  girl !  "  he  said  at  last.  «  Good 
little  Peggy !  So  she  will  learn  to  cook,  will 
she  ?  And  she  is  getting  hold  of  her  mother ! 
This  is  as  it  should  be,  Margaret,  eh  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  cried  Margaret.  «  Oh,  Uncle 
John,  this  letter  makes  me  feel  so  happy 
about  the  child.  At  first,  you  know,  she 
missed  us  all  more  than  she  should  have, 
—  really.  And  —  and  I  think  that,  except 
for  Hugh,  perhaps  they  did  not  receive  her 
in  quite  the  way  they  might  have,  laughing 
at  her  a  good  deal,  and  sneering  when  she 
tried  to  make  little  improvements.  I  don't 


20  MARGARET   MONTFORT. 

mean  Aunt  Susan  or  Uncle  James,  but  the 
younger  children,  and  George,  who  must  be 
—  whom  I  don't  fancy,  somehow.  And  she 
has  been  so  brave,  and  has  tried  so  hard  to 
be  patient  and  gentle.  I  think  our  Peggy 
will  make  a  very  fine  woman,  don't  you, 
uncle?" 

"  I  do,  my  love.  I  have  a  great  tenderness 
for  Peggy.  When  she  is  at  school,  she  must 
come  here  for  her  vacations,  or  some  of  them, 
at  least." 

"  And  she  owes  this  all  to  you  !  "  cried  Mar 
garet,  with  shining  eyes.  "  If  she  had  never 
come  here,  Uncle  John,  I  feel  as  if  she  might 
have  grown  up  —  well,  pretty  wild  and 
rough,  I  am  afraid.  Oh,  she  ought  to  love 
you,  and  she  does." 

"  Humph ! "  said  Mr.  Montf ort,  dryly.  "  Yes, 
my  dear,  she  does,  and  I  am  very  glad  of  the 
dear  little  girl's  love.  But  as  for  owing  it  all 
to  me,  why,  Margaret,  there  may  be  two 
opinions  about  that.  Well,  and  what  says 
our  Bird  of  Paradise  ? " 

"  Rita  ?  Oh,  uncle,  I  don't  know  what  you 
will  think  of  this  letter." 


PRESENT   AND   ABSENT.  21 

"  Don't  read  it,  my  dear,  if  you  think  it  is 
meant  for  you  alone.  You  can  tell  me  if  she 
is  well  and  happy." 

"  That  is  just  it,  Uncle  John.  She  wants 
to  go  to  Europe,  and  her  father  does  not  ap 
prove  of  her  going  just  at  present,  and  so  — 
well,  you  shall  hear  part  of  it,  at  any  rate. 

"  Margaret,  my  Soul ! " 

"  That  sounds  natural !  "  said  Mr.  Mont  fort. 
"  That  is  undoubtedly  Kita,  Margaret ;  go  on  ! 
If  you  were  her  soul,  my  dear,  my  brother 
Richard  would  have  a  quieter  life.  Go  on." 

"Hardly  a  week  has  passed  since  last  I  wrote, 
yet  to-night  I  fly  again  in  spirit  to  you,  since  my 
burning  heart  must  pour  itself  out  to  some  other 
heart  that  can  beat  with  mine.  It  is  midnight.  All 
day  I  have  suffered,  and  now  I  fain  would  lose  my 
self  in  sleep.  But  no  !  My  eyes  are  propped  open,  my 
heart  throbs  to  suffocation,  I  enrage,  I  tear  myself  — 
how  should  sleep  come  to  such  as  I  ?  O  Marguerite, 
there  in  your  cool  retreat,  with  that  best  of  men,  my 
uncle,  —  yours  also,  —  a  Paladin,  but  one  whose  blood 
flows,  or  rests,  quietly,  as  yours,  can  you  feel  for 
me,  for  your  Rita,  who  burns,  who  dissolves  in 
anguish  ?  Listen  !  I  desire  to  go  to  Europe.  I  have 


22  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

never  seen  it,  as  you  know.  Spain,  the  home  of  my 
ancestors,  the  cradle  of  the  San  Reals,  is  but  a  name 
to  me.  Now  I  have  the  opportunity.  An  escort 
offers  itself,  perfection,  beyond  earthly  desire.  You 
recall  my  friend,  my  Conchita,  who  divides  my  heart 
with  you  ?  She  is  married,  my  dear !  She  is  the  Senora 
Bobadilla;  her  husband  is  noble,  rich,  devoted. 
Young,  I  do  not  say;  brilliant,  I  do  not  pretend! 
Conchita  is  brought  up  in  the  Spanish  way,  my 
child;  she  weds  a  Spanish  husband,  as  her  parents 
provide  him ;  it  is  the  custom.  Now !  Marguerite, 
they  offer  to  take  me  with  them  to  Spain,  to  France, 
Italy,  the  world's  end.  It  is  the  opportunity  of  a 
lifetime.  I  pine,  I  die  for  change.  When  you  con 
sider  that  I  have  been  a  year  here,  without  once 
leaving  home,  —  it  is  an  eternity  !  I  implore  my  father ; 
I  weep  —  torrents !  I  clasp  his  knees.  I  say,  c  Kill 
me,  but  let  me  go  ! '  No  !  he  is  adamant.  He  talks 
about  the  disturbed  state  of  the  country !  Has  it  been 
ever  undisturbed  ?  I  ask  you,  Marguerite  !  Briefly,  I 
remain  !  The  Bobadillas  sail  to-morrow,  without  me. 
I  feel  that  this  blow  has  crushed  me,  Marguerite.  I 
feel  my  strength,  never,  as  you  know,  robust,  ebbing 
from  me.  Be  prepared,  Marguerite  !  I  feel  that  in  a 
few  weeks  I  may  be  gone,  indeed,  but  not  to  Europe  ; 
to  another  and  a  kinder  world.  The  San  Reals  are  a 
short-lived  race;  they  suffer,  they  die!  My  father 
will  realise  one  day  that  he  might  better  have  let  his 
poor  Rita  have  her  way  for  once,  when  Rita  lies 


PRESENT    AND    ABSENT.  23 

shrouded  in  white,  with  lilies  at  her  head  and  feet. 
Adios,  Marguerite !  farewell,  heart  of  my  heart !  I 
have  made  my  will,  —  my  jewels  are  divided  between 
you  and  Peggy.  Poor  Peggy!  she  also  will  mourn 
me.  You  will  dry  her  tears,  dearest!  The  lamp 
burns  low  — no  more!  For  the  last  time,  beloved 
Marguerite, 

«  Your  unhappy 
"MARGARITA  MARIA  DOLORES  DE 

SAN  REAL  MONTFORT." 

"Isn't  that  really  pretty  alarming?"  said 
Margaret,  looking  up.  "  Why  —  why,  Uncle 
John !  you  are  laughing  !  Don't  laugh,  please ! 
Of  course  Rita  is  extravagant,  but  I  am  afraid 
she  must  really  be  very  unhappy.  Stay !  Here 
is  a  postscript  that  I  did  not  see  before. 
Oh!  Oh,  uncle!  Listen! 

"  Alma  mia,  one  word !  It  is  morning,  in  the  world 
and  in  my  heart.  I  go,  Marguerite !  My  maid  is 
packing  my  trunk  at  this  instant.  My  father  re 
lents  ;  he  is  an  angel,  the  kindest,  the  most  consider 
ate  of  parents.  We  sail  to-morrow  for  Gibraltar,  —  I 
shall  be  in  Madrid  in  less  than  a  month.  Marguerite, 
I  embrace  you  tenderly.  Rejoice,  Beloved,  with 
your  happy,  your  devoted 

«  RITA." 


24  MARGARET   MONTFORT. 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear !  "  said  Mr.  Montfort, 
twirling  his  moustaches.  "Poor  Richard! 
Poor  old  Dick!  Do  you  know,  my  dear,  I 
think  Dick  may  have  had  some  experience  of 
life." 


CHAPTER  II. 

DOMESTIC. 

LIFE  was  pleasant  enough  for  Margaret 
Montfort,  in  those  days.  The  hours  were 
still  sad  which  she  had  been  used  to  spend  with 
Mrs.  Cheriton,  the  beloved  Aunt  Faith;  but 
there  was  such  peace  and  blessedness  in  the 
thought  of  her,  that  Margaret  would  not  have 
been  without  the  gentle  sorrow.  She  loved 
to  sit  in  the  White  Rooms,  sometimes  with 
her  uncle,  but  more  often  alone.  In  the 
morning,  she  generally  walked  for  an  hour  in 
the  garden  with  Mr.  Montfort,  tending  the 
rose-bushes  that  were  his  special  care  and 
pride,  listening  to  his  wise  and  kindly  talk, 
and  learning,  she  always  thought,  something 
new  each  day.  It  is  wonderful  how  much 
philosophy,  poetry,  even  history,  can  be 
brought  into  the  care  of  roses,  if  the  right 

25 


26  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

person  has  charge  of  them.  At  ten  o'clock 
he  generally  went  to  town,  and  the  rest  of 
the  morning  was  spent  in  practising,  sewing, 
and  studying;  the  hours  flew  by  so  fast, 
Margaret  often  suspected  the  clock  of  being 
something  of  a  dishonest  character.  She  was 
studying  German,  with  the  delightful  result 
of  reading  "  Der  Trompeter  von  Sakkingen  " 
with  her  uncle  in  the  evening,  when  it  was 
not  too  beautiful  out-of-doors.  Then,  in  the 
afternoon,  she  could  with  a  clear  conscience 
take  up  some  beloved  romance,  and  be  "  just 
happy,"  as  she  called  it,  till  Mr.  Montfort 
returned  in  time  for  the  walk  or  ride  which 
was  the  crowning  pleasure  of  the  day.  And 
so  the  days  went  by,  in  a  golden  peace  which 
seemed  too  pleasant  to  last ;  and  yet  there 
seemed  no  reason  why  it  should  ever  change.. 
The  morning  after  the  reading  of  the 
letters,  Margaret  had  been  in  the  White 
Rooms,  arranging  flowers  in  the  vases,  and 
putting  little  loving  touches  to  books  and 
cushions,  as  a  tidy  girl  loves  to  do,  whether 
there  is  need  or  not.  The  windows  were 
open,  and  the  orioles  were  singing  in  the 


DOMESTIC.  27 

great  elm-tree,  and  the  laburnum  was  a  bower 
of  gold.  It  seemed  really  too  perfect  a  morn 
ing  to  spend  in  the  house ;  Margaret  thought 
she  would  take  her  work  out  into  the  garden, 
not  this  sunny  green  parlour,  but  the  great 
shady  garden  outside,  where  the  box  swept 
above  her  head,  and  the  whole  air  smelt  of  it, 
and  of  moss  and  ferns  and  a  hundred  other 
cool  things.  She  passed  out  of  the  rooms, 
and  went  along  a  passage,  and  as  she  went  she 
heard  voices  that  came  through  an  open  door 
at  one  side ;  clear,  loud  voices  that  she  could 
not  have  escaped  if  she  would. 

"  These  table-napkins  is  scandalous  !  "  said 
Elizabeth.  "  I  do  wish  Miss  Margaret  would 
get  us  some  new  ones." 

"  Why  don't  you  ask  her  ?  "  said  Frances, 
the  cook,  bringing  her  flat-iron  down  with  a 
thump.  "  The  table-cloths  is  most  worn  out, 
too,  this  set.  Ask  her  to  see  to  some  new 
ones.  She's  young,  you  see,  and  she  don't 
think." 

"  I've, been  giving  her  one  with  holes  in  it, 
right  along  this  two  weeks,"  said  Elizabeth, 
"  hoping  she'd  notice,  but  she  don't  seem  to. 


28  MARGARET   MONTFORT. 

I  thought  it'd  be  best  if  she  found  out  herself 
when  things  was  needed." 

"  Ah !  "  said  Frances,  "  she's  a  sweet  young 
lady,  but  she'll  never  make  no  housekeeper. 
She  hasn't  so  much  as  looked  inside  one  of 
my  closets  since  Mis'  Cheriton  went." 

"  You  wouldn't  be  over  and  above  pleased 
if  she  looked  much  into  your  closets,  Frances ; 
I  know  that !  " 

"Maybe  I  wouldn't,  and  maybe  I  would; 
but  I'd  like  to  have  her  know  as  there  was  no 
need  of  her  looking.  Don't  tell  me,  Eliza 
beth  !  So  long  as  she  could  walk  on  her  feet, 
never  a  week  but  Mis'  Cheriton  would  look 
in,  and  take  a  peep  at  every  shelf.  '  Just  for 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  perfection,  Frances,' 
she'd  say,  or  something  like  that,  her  pretty 
way.  But  if  there  had  been  anything  but 
perfection,  I'd  have  heard  from  her  pretty 
quick." 

"  I  think  you're  hard  to  please,  I  do ! " 
Elizabeth  answered.  "  I  think  Miss  Margaret 
is  as  sweet  a  young  lady  as  walks  the  earth ; 
so  thoughtful,  and  afraid  of  giving  trouble, 
and  neat  and  tidy  as  a  pin.  I  tell  you,  Mr. 


DOMESTIC.  29 

Montfort's  well  off,  and  so's  you  and  me, 
Frances.  Why,  we  might  have  had  one  of 
them  other  young  ladies,  and  then  where'd 
we  have  been  ?  " 

"I  don't  know !  "  said  Frances,  significantly. 
"  Not  here,  that's  one  sure  thing." 

"  Or  Mr.  Montfort  might  have  married. 
Fine  man  as  he  is,  it's  a  wonder  he  never 
has." 

"H'm!  he's  no  such  fool!  Not  but  what 
there's  them  would  be  glad  enough  —  " 

But  here  Margaret,  with  burning  cheeks, 
fled  back  to  the  White  Rooms.  It  could  not 
be  helped ;  she  had  to  hear  what  they  were 
saying  about  herself  ;  she  must  not  hear  what 
they  said  about  her  uncle. 

She  sat  down  on  the  little  stool  that  had 
always  been  her  favourite  seat,  and  leaned  her 
cheek  against  the  great  white  chair,  that 
would  always  be  empty  now. 

"  I  wish  you  were  here,  Aunt  Faith ! "  she 
said,  aloud.  "I  am  very  young,  and  very 
ignorant.  I  wish  you  were  here  to  tell  me 
what  I  should  do." 

At  first  the  women's  talk  seemed  cruel  to 


30  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

her.  They  had  been  here  so  long,  they  knew 
the  ways  of  the  house  so  entirely,  she  had 
never  dreamed  of  advising  them,  any  more 
than  of  advising  her  uncle  himself.  Fran 
ces  had  been  at  Fernley  twenty  years, 
Elizabeth,  twenty-five.  What  could  she  tell 
them  ?  How  could  she  possibly  know  about 
the  things  that  had  been  their  care  and 
pride,  year  in  and  year  out,  since  before 
she  was  born?  It  seemed  very  strange, 
very  unkind,  that  they  should  expect  her 
to  step  in,  with  her  youth  and  ignorance, 
between  them  and  their  experience.  So  she 
thought,  and  thought,  feeling  hot,  and  sore, 
and  angry.  She  had  never  had  any  care  of 
housekeeping  in  her  life.  Old  Katy,  her 
nurse,  who  had  taken  her  from  her  dying 
mother's  arms,  had  always  done  all  that; 
Margaret's  part  was  to  see  that  her  own 
and  her  father's  clothes  were  in  perfect 
order,  to  keep  the  rooms  dusted,  and  ar 
range  the  books  when  she  was  allowed  to 
touch  them,  which  was  not  often.  As  to 
table-cloths,  she  had  never  thought  of  them 
in  her  life ;  Katy  saw  to  all  that ;  and  if  she 


DOMESTIC.  31 

had  attempted  to  suggest  ordering  dinner, 
Katy  would  have  been  apt  to  send  her  to 
bed,  Margaret  thought.  Poor,  dear  old 
Katy !  She  was  dead  now,  and  Aunt  Faith 
was  dead,  and  there  was  no  one  to  stand 
between  Margaret  and  the  cares  that  she 
knew  nothing  about.  Of  course,  Uncle  John 
must  never  know  anything  of  it ;  he  expected 
perfection,  and  had  always  had  it ;  he  did  not 
care  how  it  was  brought  about.  Surely  these 
women  were  unkind  and  unreasonable !  What 
good  could  she  possibly  do  by  interfering  ? 
They  would  not  endure  it  if  she  really  did 
interfere. 

The  white  linen  cover  of  the  chair  was 
smooth  and  cool ;  Margaret  pressed  her  cheek 
against  it,  and  a  sense  of  comfort  stole  over 
her  insensibly.  She  began  to  turn  the  matter 
over,  and  try  to  look  at  the  other  side  of  it. 
There  always  was  another  side;  her  father  had 
taught  her  that  when  she  was  a  little  child. 
Well,  after  all,  had  they  really  said  anything 
unkind  ?  Frances's  words  came  back  to  her, 
"I'd  like  to  have  her  know  as  there  was  no 
need  of  her  looking." 


32  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

After  all,  was  not  that  perfectly  natural  ? 
Did  not  every  one  like  to  have  good  work 
seen  and  recognised  ?  Even  Uncle  John  al 
ways  called  her  to  see  when  he  had  made  a 
particularly  neat  graft,  and  expected  her 
praise  and  wonderment,  and  was  pleased 
with  it.  And  why  did  she  show  him  her 
buttonholes  this  morning,  except  that  she 
knew  they  were  good  buttonholes,  and  wanted 
the  kindly  word  that  she  was  sure  of  getting  ? 
Was  the  trouble  with  her,  after  all?  Had 
she  failed  to  remember  that  Elizabeth  and 
Frances  were  human  beings,  not  machines, 
and  that  her  uncle  being  what  he  was,  she 
herself  was  the  only  person  to  give  them 
a  word  of  deserved  praise  or  counsel. 

"  My  dear,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  I  don't 
want  to  be  hasty  in  my  judgments,  but  it 
rather  looks  as  if  you  had  been  a  careless, 
selfish  goose,  doesn't  it  now?" 

She  went  up  to  her  own  room, — the  garden 
seemed  too  much  of  an  indulgence  just  now, 
—  and  sat  down  quietly  with  her  work.  Sew 
ing  was  always  soothing  to  Margaret.  She 
was  not  fond  of  it;  she  would  have  read 


DOMESTIC.  33 

twelve  hours  out  of  the  twenty-four,  if  she 
had  been  allowed  to  choose  her  own  way 
of  life,  and  have  walked  or  ridden  four, 
and  slept  six,  and  would  never  have  thought 
of  any  time  being  necessary  for  eating,  till 
she  felt  hungry.  But  she  had  been  taught 
to  sew  well  and  quickly,  and  she  had  always 
made  her  own  underclothes,  and  felled  all  the 
seams,  and  a  good  many  girls  will  know  how 
much  that  means.  She  sat  sewing  and  think 
ing,  planning  all  kinds  of  reforms  and  experi 
ments,  when  she  heard  Elizabeth  stirring  in 
the  room  next  hers.  It  was  the  linen  room, 
and  Elizabeth  was  putting  away  clean  clothes, 
Margaret  knew  by  the  clank  of  the  drawer- 
handles.  Now !  this  was  the  moment  to 
begin.  She  laid  down  her  work,  and  went 
into  the  linen  room. 

"  May  I  see  you  put  them  away,  Eliza 
beth?"  she  asked.  "I  always  like  to  see 
your  piles  of  towels,  —  they  are  so  even  and 
smooth." 

Elizabeth  looked  up,  and  her  face  bright 
ened.  "  And  welcome,  Miss  Margaret !  "  she 
said.  "  I'll  be  pleased  enough.  Tis  dreadful 


34  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

lonesome,  and  Mis'  Cheriton  gone.  Not  that 
she  could  come  up  here,  I  don't  mean ;  but  I 
always  knew  she  was  there,  and  she  was  like 
a  mother  to  me,  and  I  could  always  go  to  her. 
Yes,  miss,  the  towels  do  look  nice,  and  I  love 
to  keep  'em  so." 

"  They  are  beautiful !  "  said  Margaret,  with 
genuine  enthusiasm,  for  the  shelves  and 
drawers  were  like  those  she  had  read .  about 
in  "  Soil  und  Haben."  She  had  loved  them 
in  the  book,  but  never  thought  of  looking  at 
them  in  reality.  "  Oh,  what  lovely  damask 
this  is,  Elizabeth !  It  shines  like  silver !  I 
never  saw  such  damask  as  this." 

"  Tis  something  rare,  miss,  I  do  be  told," 
Elizabeth  replied. 

"  Mr.  Montfort  brought  them  towels  back 
from  Germany,  three  years  ago,  because  he 
thought  they  would  please  his  aunt,  and  they 
did,  dear  lady.  Hand  spun  and  wove  they 
are,  she  said;  and  there's  only  one  place 
where  they  make  this  weave  and  this  pattern. 
See,  Miss  Margaret !  'Tis  roses,  coming  out 
of  a  little  loaf  of  bread  like ;  and  there  was 
a  story  about  it,  some  saint,  but  I  don't 


DOMESTIC.  35 

rightly  remember  what.  There!  I  have 
tried  to  remember  that  story,  ever  since 
Mis'  Cheriton  went,  but  it  seems  I  can't." 

"Oh,  oh,  it  must  be  Saint  Elizabeth  of 
Hungary!"  cried  Margaret,  bending  in  de 
light  over  the  smooth  silvery  stuff.  "Why, 
how  perfectly  enchanting !  " 

"Yes,  miss,  that's  it!"  cried  Elizabeth, 
beaming  with  pleasure.  "  Saint  Elizabeth  it 
was ;  and  maybe  you'll  know  the  story,  Miss 
Margaret.  I  never  like  to  ask  Mr.  Montfort, 
of  course,  but  I  should  love  dearly  to  hear  it." 

Margaret  asked  nothing  better.  She  told 
the  lovely  story  as  well  as  she  knew  how,  and 
before  she  had  finished,  Elizabeth's  eyes  as 
well  as  her  own  were  full  of  tears.  One  of 
Elizabeth's  tears  even  fell  on  the  towel,  and 
she  cried  out  in  horror,  and  wiped  it  away  as  if 
it  had  been  a  poison-spot,  and  laid  the  sacred 
damask  back  in  its  place.  Margaret  felt  the 
moment  given  to  her. 

"  Elizabeth,"  she  said,  "  I  want  to  ask  you 
something.  I  want  to  ask  if  you  will  help 
me  a  little.  Will  you  try  ?  " 

Elizabeth,  surprised  and  pleased,  vowed  she 


36  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

would  do  all  she  could  for  Miss  Margaret,  in 
any  way  in  her  power. 

"  You  can  do  a  great  deal !  "  said  Margaret. 
"I  —  I  am  very  young,  Elizabeth,  and  —  and 
you  and  Frances  have  been  here  a  long  time, 
and  of  course  you  know  all  about  the  work  of 
the  house,  and  I  know  nothing  at  all.  And 
yet  —  and  yet,  I  ought  to  be  helping,  it  seems 
to  me,  and  ought  to  be  taking  my  place,  and 
my  share  in  the  work.  Do  you  see  what  I 
mean,  Elizabeth  ?  You  and  Frances  could  help 
me,  oh,  so  much,  if  you  would ;  and  perhaps 
some  day  I  might  be  able  to  help  you  too,  —  I 
don't  know  just  how,  yet,  but  it  might  come." 

"  Oh,  miss,  we  will  be  so  thankful !  "  cried 
Elizabeth.  "  Oh,  miss,  Frances  and  me,  we'd 
been  wishing  and  longing  to  have  you  speak 
up  and  take  your  place,  if  I  may  say  so.  We 
didn't  like  to  put  ourselves  forward,  and  we've 
no  orders  from  Mr.  Montfort,  except  to  do 
whatever  you  said ;  and  so,  when  you'll  say 
anything,  Miss  Margaret,  we-  feel  ever  and 
ever  so  much  better,  Frances  and  me.  And 
I'll  be  pleased  to  go  all  over  the  work  with 
you,  Miss  Margaret,  this  very  day,  and  show 


DOMESTIC.  37 

you  just  how  I've  always  done  it,  and  I  think 
Mr.  Montfort  has  been  satisfied,  and  Mis' 
Cheriton  was,  Lord  rest  her !  and  you  so 
young,  and  with  so  much  else  to  do,  as  I  said 
time  and  again  to  Frances,  reading  with  Mr. 
Montfort  and  riding  with  him,  and  taking 
such  an  interest  in  the  roses,  as  his  own 
daughter  couldn't  make  him  happier  if  he 
had  one.  And  of  course  it's  nature  that  you 
haven't  had  no  time  yet  to  take  much  notice, 
but  it  makes  it  twice  as  easy  for  servants, 
Miss  Margaret,  where  an  interest  is  took  ;  and 
I'm  thankful  to  you,  I'm  sure,  and  so  will 
Frances  be,  and  you'll  find  her  closets  a 
pleasure  to  look  at." 

Elizabeth  stopped  to  draw  breath,  and 
Margaret  looked  at  her  in  wonder  and  self- 
reproach.  The  grave,  staid  woman  was  all 
alight  with  pleasure  and  the  prospect  of  sym 
pathy.  It  came  over  Margaret  that,  comfort 
able  and  homelike  as  their  life  at  Fernley  was, 
it  was  not  perhaps  exactly  thrilling. 

"  We  will  be  friends,  Elizabeth  !  "  she  said, 
simply;  and  the  two  shook  hands,  with  an 
earnestness  that  meant  something.  "And 


38  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

you  are  to  come  to  me,  please,  whenever  there 
is  anything  that  needs  attention,  Elizabeth, 
and  I  will  do  my  best,  and  ask  your  advice 
about  anything  I  don't  understand.  Don't  — 
don't  we  —  need  some  new  napkins,  Eliza 
beth  ?  " 

Elizabeth  was  eloquent  as  to  their  need  of 
napkins.  In  a  couple  of  washes  more,  there 
would  be  nothing  but  holes  left  to  wipe  their 
hands  on. 

"  Then  I'll  order  some  this  very  day,"  said 
Margaret.  "Or  better  still,  I'll  go  to  town 
with  Uncle  John  to-morrow,  and  get  them  my 
self.  And  now,  Elizabeth,  I  am  going  down 
to  see  Frances,  and  —  and  perhaps  —  do  you 
think  she  would  like  it  if  I  ordered  dinner, 
Elizabeth?" 

"  Miss  Margaret,  she'd  be  pleased  to  death  ! " 
cried  Elizabeth. 

Returning  from  the  kitchen  an  hour  later,  a 
sadder  and  a  wiser  girl  (for  Frances's  perfec 
tion  seemed  unattainable  by  ordinary  mortals, 
even  with  the  aid  of  Sapolio),  Margaret  heard 
the  sound  of  wheels  on  the  gravel  outside. 
Glancing  through  the  window  of  the  long 


DOMESTIC.  39 

passage  through  which  she  was  going,  she 
saw,  to  her  amazement,  a  carriage  standing  at 
the  door,  a  carriage  that  had  evidently  come 
some  way,  for  it  was  covered  with  dust.  The 
driver  was  taking  down  a  couple  of  trunks, 
and  beside  the  carriage  stood  a  lady,  with  her 
purse  in  her  hand. 

"  I  shall  give  you  two  dollars ! "  the  lady 
was  saying,  in  a  thin,  sharp  voice.  "I  con 
sider  that  ample  for  the  distance  you  have 
come." 

"I  told  the  gentleman  it  would  be  three 
dollars,  mum ! "  said  the  man,  civilly,  touch 
ing  his  hat.  "Three  dollars  is  the  regular 
price,  with  one  trunk,  and  these  trunks  is 
mortal  heavy.  The  gentleman  said  as  it 
would  be  all  right,  mum." 

"The  gentleman  knew  nothing  whatever 
about  it,"  said  the  sharp-voiced  lady.  "I 
shall  give  you  two  dollars,  and  not  a  penny 
more.  I  have  always  paid  two  dollars  to 
drive  to  Fernley,  and  I  have  no  idea  of  being 
cheated  now,  I  assure  you." 

The  man  was  still  grumbling,  when  Eliz 
abeth  opened  the  door.  She  looked  grave, 


40  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

but  greeted  the  newcomer  with  a  respectful 
curtsey. 

"  Oh,  how  do  you  do,  Elizabeth  !  "  said  the 
strange  lady.  "  How  is  Mr.  Montf ort  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Montfort  is  very  well,  thank  you, 
mum ! "  said  Elizabeth.  "  He  is  in  town, 
mum.  He'll  hardly  be  back  before  evening. 
Would  you  like  to  see  Miss  Montfort  ?  " 

"  Miss  Montfort  ?  Oh,  the  little  girl  who  is 
staying  here.  You  needn't  trouble  to  call  her 
just  now,  Elizabeth.  Send  for  Willis,  will 
you,  and  have  him  take  my  trunks  in ;  I  have 
come  to  stay.  He  may  put  them  in  the 
White  Rooms." 

"I  —  I  beg  pardon,  mum  !  "  faltered  Eliza 
beth.  "  In  the  Blue  Room,  did  you  say  ? 
The  Blue  Room  has  been  new  done  over, 
and  that  is  where  we  have  put  visitors 
lately." 

"Nothing  of  the  sort!"  said  the  lady, 
sharply.  "  I  said  the  White  Rooms ;  Mrs. 
Cheriton's  rooms." 

Margaret  stayed  to  hear  no  more.  A 
stranger  in  the  White  Rooms  !  Aunt  Faith's 
rooms,  which  she  could  not  bear  to  occupy 


DOMESTIC.  41 

herself,  though  her  uncle  had  urged  her  to  do 
so  ?  And  such  a  stranger  as  this,  with  such 
a  voice,  —  and  such  a  nose  !  Never !  never, 
while  there  was  breath  to  pant  with,  while 
there  were  feet  to  run  with  ! 

Never  but  once  in  her  life  had  Margaret 
Montfort  run  as  she  did  now ;  that  once  was 
when  she  flew  up  the  secret  staircase  to  save 
her  cousin  from  burning.  In  a -flash  she  was 
in  her  own  room  —  what  had  been  her  room  ! 
—  gathering  things  frantically  in  her  arms, 
snatching  books  from  the  table,  dresses  from 
the  closets.  Down  the  back  stairs  she  ran 
like  a  whirlwind;  down,  and  up,  and  down 
again.  Had  the  girl  gone  suddenly  mad  ? 

Ten  minutes  later,  when  Elizabeth,  her  eyes 
smarting  with  angry  tears,  opened  the  door 
of  the  White  Parlour,  —Willis  the  choreman 
behind  her,  grunting  and  growling,  with  a 
trunk  on  his  shoulder,  —  a  young  lady  was  sit 
ting  in  the  great  white  armchair,  quietly  read 
ing.  The  young  lady's  cheeks  were  crimson,  her 
eyes  were  sparkling,  and  her  breath  came  in 
short,  quick  gasps,  which  showed  that  what  she 
was  reading  must  be  very  exciting  ;  what  made 


42  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

it  the  more  curious  was  that  the  book  was 
upside  down.  But  she  was  entirely  com 
posed,  and  evidently  surprised  at  the  sudden 
intrusion. 

"  What  is  it,  Elizabeth  ?  "  asked  Margaret, 
quietly. 

"I  —  I — I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Mont- 
fort  ! "  said  Elizabeth,  whose  eyes  were  begin 
ning  to  brighten,  too,  and  her  lips  to  twitch 
dangerously.  "I  —  I  didn't  know,  miss,  as 
you  had  —  moved  in  yet.  Here  is  Miss 
Sophronia  Montfort,  miss,  as  perhaps  you 
would  like  to  see  her." 

The  strange  lady  was  already  glaring  over 
Willis's  shoulder. 

"What  is  this?"  she  said.  "What  does 
this  mean  ?  These  rooms  are  not  occupied ;  I 
was  positively  told  they  were  not  occupied. 
There  must  be  some  mistake.  Willis  —  " 

"  Yes,  there  is  a  mistake  !  "  said  Margaret, 
coming  forward,  and  holding  out  her  hand 
with  a  smile.  "Is  this  Cousin  Sophronia?  I 
am  Margaret,  Cousin  Sophronia.  Uncle  John 
asked  me  to  take  these  rooms,  and  I  —  I  feel 
quite  at  home  in  them  already.  Would  you 


DOMESTIC.  43 

like  the  Pink,  or  the  Blue  Room  ?  They  are 
both  ready,  aren't  they,  Elizabeth  ?  " 

"Yes,  Miss  Montfort,"  said  Elizabeth, 
"  quite  ready." 

The  strange  lady's  eyes  glared  wider  and 
wider ;  her  chest  heaved ;  she  seemed  about  to 
break  out  in  a  torrent  of  angry  speech;  but 
making  a  visible  effort,  she  controlled  her 
self.  "  How  do  you  do,  my — my  dear  ?  "  she 
said,  taking  Margaret's  offered  hand,  and 
giving  it  a  little  pinch  with  the  tips  of  her 
fingers.  "I  —  a  little  misunderstanding,  no 
doubt.  Willis,  —  the  Blue  Room,  —  for  the 
present!"  But  Willis  was  suffering  from  a 
sudden  and  violent  fit  of  coughing,  which 
shook  his  whole  frame,  and  made  it  necessary 
for  him  to  rest  his  trunk  against  the  wall  and 
lean  against  it,  with  his  head  down ;  so  that 
it  was  fully  five  minutes  before  Miss  Sophronia 
Montfort 's  trunk  got  up  to  the  Blue  Room. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE    UNEXPECTED. 

WHEN  Mr.  Montfort  came  home  that  after 
noon,  Margaret  was  waiting  for  him,  as  usual, 
on  the  verandah ;  as  usual,  for  she  was  deter 
mined  to  keep  the  worry  out  of  her  face  and 
out  of  her  voice.  But  as  her  uncle  came  up 
the  steps,  with  his  cheery  "  Well !  and  how's 
my  lassie?"  he  was  confronted  by  Miss 
Sophronia  Montfort,  who,  passing  Margaret 
swiftly,  advanced  with  both  hands  held  out, 
and  a  beaming  smile. 

"  My  dearest  John !  my  poor,  dear  fellow  ! 
Confess  that  I  have  surprised  you.  Confess 
it,  John !  —  you  did  not  expect  to  see  me." 

"  Sophronia  ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Montfort.  He 
stood  still  and  contemplated  the  visitor  for  a 
moment;  then  he  shook  hands  with  her, 
rather  formally. 

"  You  certainly  have  surprised  me,  Sophro- 


THE    UNEXPECTED.  45 

nia !  "  he  said,  kindly  enough.     "  What  wind 
has  blown  you  in  this  direction  ?  " 

"  The  wind  of  affection,  my  dear  boy!" 
cried  the  strange  lady.  "  I  have  been  planning 
it,  ever  since  I  heard  of  Aunt  Faith's  death. 
Dearest  Aunt  Faith  !  What  a  loss,  John !  what 
an  irreparable  loss  !  I  shall  never  recover  from 
die  shock.  The  moment  I  heard  of  it,  I  said 
—  William  would  tell  you,  if  he  were  here  — 
I  said,  6 1  must  go  to  John  !  He  will  need  me 
now,'  I  said,  <  and  go  I  must.'  I  explained  to 
William  that  I  felt  it  as  a  solemn  duty.  He 
took  it  beautifully,  poor,  dear  fellow.  I  don't 
know  how  they  will  get  on  without  me,  for 
his  wife  is  sadly  heedless,  John,  and  the  chil 
dren  need  a  steady  hand,  they  do  indeed.  But 
he  did  not  try  to  keep  me  back ;  indeed,  he 
urged  me  to  come,  which  showed  such  a 
beautiful  spirit,  didn't  it  ?  And  so  here  I  am, 
my  dearest  boy,  come  to  take  Aunt  Faith's 
place,  and  make  a  home  for  you,  my  poor 
lonely  cousin.  You  know  I  have  always 
loved  you  as  a  sister,  John,  and  you  must  con 
sider  me  a  real  sister  now;  sister  Sophronia, 
dear  John ! " 


46  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

The  lady  paused  for  breath,  and  gazed 
tenderly  on  Mr.  Montfort;  that  gentleman 
returned  her  gaze  with  one  of  steady  gravity. 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  have  a  visit  from  you, 
Sophronia,"  he  said.  "  I  have  no  doubt  we 
can  make  you  comfortable  for  a  few  weeks ; 
I  can  hardly  suppose  that  William  can  spare 
you  longer  than  that.  We  have  no  children 
here  to  need  your  —  your  ministrations." 

The  lady  shook  her  head  playfully ;  she  had 
thin  curls  of  a  grayish  yellow,  which  almost 
rattled  when  she  shook  her  head. 

"Always  self-denying,  John!"  she  cried. 
"  The  same  unselfish,  good,  sterling  fellow ! 
But  I  understand,  my  friend ;  I  know  how  it 
really  is,  and  I  shall  do  my  duty,  and  stand 
by  you;  depend  upon  that!  And  this  dear 
child,  too ! "  she  added,  turning  to  Margaret 
and  taking  her  hand  affectionately.  "So 
young,  so  unexperienced !  and  to  be  attempt 
ing  the  care  of  a  house  like  Fernley !  How 
could  you  think  of  it,  John?  But  we  will 
make  that  all  right.  I  shall  be  — we  can 
hardly  say  a  mother,  can  we,  my  dear?  but 
an  elder  sister,  to  you,  too.  Oh,  we  shall  be 


THE    UNEXPECTED.  47 

very  happy,  I  am  sure.  The  drawing-room 
carpe.ts  are  looking  very  shabby,  John.  I  am 
ready  to  go  over  the  dear  old  house  from  top 
to  bottom,  and  make  it  over  new ;  of  course 
you  did  not  feel  like  making  any  changes 
while  dear  Aunt  Faith  was  with  you.  Such  a 
mistake,  I  always  say,  to  shake  the  aged  out 
of  their  ruts.  Yes  !  so  wise  of  you  !  and  who 
is  in  the  neighbourhood,  John  ?  " 

"  I  hardly  know,"  said  Mr.  Montfort.  "  You 
know  I  live  rather  a  hermit  life,  Sophronia. 
Mrs.  Peyton  is  here ;  I  believe  you  are  fond  of 
her." 

"Sweet  Emily  Peyton!"  exclaimed  Miss 
Sophronia,  with  enthusiasm.  "Is  that  ex 
quisite  creature  here  ?  That  will  indeed  be  a 
pleasure.  Ah,  John,  she  should  never  have 
been  Emily  Peyton ;  you  know  my  opinion  on 
that  point."  She  nodded,  her  head  several 
times,  with  an  air  of  mysterious  understand 
ing.  "And  widowed,  after  all,  and  once 
more  alone  in  the  world.  How  does  she  bear 
her  sorrow,  John  ?  " 

"I  have  not  seen  her,"  said  Mr.  Montfort, 
rather  shortly.  "From  what  I  hear,  she 


48  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

seems  to  bear  it  with  considerable  fortitude 
Perhaps  you  forget  that  it  is  fully  ten  years 
since  Mr.  Peyton  died,  Sophronia.  But  Mar 
garet  here  can  tell  you  more  than  I  can  about 
Mrs.  Peyton;  she  goes  to  see  her  now  and 
then.  Mrs.  Peyton  is  something  of  an  invalid, 
and  likes  to  have  her  come." 

"  Indeed !  "  cried  Miss  Sophronia.  "  I  should 
hardly  have  fancied  —  Emily  Peyton  was  al 
ways  so  mature  in  her  thought,  so  critical  in 
her  observations ;  but  no  doubt  she  is  lonely, 
and  glad  of  any  society ;  and  sweet  Margaret 
is  most  sympathetic,  I  am  sure.  Sympathy, 
my  dear  John!  how  could  we  live  without 
it,  my  poor  dear  fellow  ?  " 

"I  am  going  to  walk,"  said  Mr.  Montfort, 
abruptly.  "  Margaret,  will  you  come  ?  So 
phronia,  you  will  be  glad  of  a  chance  to  rest ; 
you  must  be  tired  after  your  long  drive." 

"  This  once,  yes,  dearest  John ! "  said  the 
lady.  "This  once  you  must  go  without  me. 
I  am  tired,  —  so  thoughtful  of  you  to  notice 
it!  There  is  no  sofa  in  the  Blue  Room,  but  I 
shall  do  very  well  there  for  a  few  days. 
Don't  have  me  on  your  mind  in  the  least, 


THE    UNEXPECTED.  49 

my  dear  cousin ;  I  shall  soon  be  absolutely  at 
home.  Enjoy  your  walk,  both  of  you !  After 
to-day,  I  shall  always  be  with  you,  I  hope.  I 
ordered  tea  an  hour  earlier,  as  I  dined  early, 
and  I  knew  you  would  not  mind.  Good-bye  !  " 
and  the  lady  nodded,  and  smiled  herself  into 
the  house. 

Margaret  went  for  her  hat  in  silence,  and 
in  silence  she  and  her  uncle  walked  along. 
Mr.  Montfort  was  smoking,  not  in  his  usual 
calm  and  dignified  manner,  but  in  short, 
fierce  puffs  ;  smoking  fast  and  violently.  Mar 
garet  did  not  dare  to  speak,  and  they  walked 
a  mile  or  more  without  exchanging  a  word. 

"  Margaret,"  said  her  uncle,  at  last. 

"Yes,  Uncle  John." 

"  Not  in  the  least,  my  dear !  " 

"No,  Uncle  John." 

They  walked  another  mile,  and  presently 
stopped  at  the  top  of  a  breezy  hill,  to  draw 
breath,  and  look  about  them.  The  sun  was 
going  down  in  a  cheerful  blaze ;  the  whole 
country  smiled,  and  was  glad  of  its  own 
beauty.  Mr.  Montfort  gazed  about  him,  and 
heaved  a  long  sigh  of  content. 


50  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

"  Pretty !  pretty  country ! "  he  said. 
"  Spreading  fields,  quiet  woods,  sky  over 
all,  undisturbed.  Yes !  you  are  very  silent, 
my  dear.  Have  I  been  silent,  too,  .or  have 
I  been  talking?" 

"  What  a  curious  question  !  "  thought  Mar 
garet. 

"  You  —  you  have  not  said  much,  Uncle 
John,"  she  replied. 

"  Well,  my  love,  that  may  be  because  there 
isn't  much  to  say.  Some  situations,  Mar 
garet,  are  best  met  in  silence." 

Margaret  nodded.  She  knew  her  uncle's 
ways  pretty  well  by  this  time. 

"And  yet,"  continued  Mr.  Montfort,  "it 
may  be  well  to  have  just  a  word  of  under 
standing  with  you,  my  dear  child.  Sophronia 
Montfort  is  my  own  cousin,  my  first  cousin." 

"Yes,  Uncle  John,"  said  Margaret,  as  he 
seemed  to  pause  for  a  reply. 

"Ri  tumpty,  —  that  is  to  say,  there  is  no 
gainsaying  that  fact,  —  my  own  cousin.  And 
by  natural  consequence,  Margaret,  the  own 
cousin  of  your  father,  and  by  further  con 
sequence,  your  first  cousin  once  removed.  It 


THE    UNEXPECTED.  51 

is  —  a  —  it  is  many  years  since  she  has  been 
at  Fernley;  we  must  try  to  make  her  com 
fortable  during  the  time  —  the  short  time  — 
she  is  wi#i  us.  You  have  put  her  in  the  Blue 
Room ;  that  is  comfortable,  is  it,  and  properly 
fitted  up,  —  all  the  modern  inconveniences 
and  abominations,  eh  ?  " 

Mr.  Montfort's  own  room  had  a  bare  floor, 
a  bed,  a  table,  a  chest  of  drawers,  and  a 
pitcher  and  basin  and  bath  that  might  have 
been  made  for  Cormoran  or  Blunderbore, 
whichever  was  the  bigger. 

"  Everything,  I  think,  uncle,"  faltered  Mar 
garet,  turning  crimson,  and  beginning  to 
tremble.  "Oh!  Oh,  Uncle  John!  I  have 
something  to  tell  you.  I  —  I  don't  know 
how  to  tell  you." 

"Don't  try,  then,  my  dear,"  said  Uncle 
John,  in  his  own  kind  way.  "Perhaps  it 
isn't  necessary." 

"  Oh?  Jes?  it  is  necessary.  I  shall  have  no 
peace  till  I  do,  uncle,  —  you  remember  you 
asked  me  to  take  the  White  Rooms;  you 
surely  asked  me,  didn't  you?" 

"Surely,   my   child,"    said    Mr.    Montfort, 


52  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

wondering  much.  "But  I  wished  you  to  do 
as  you  pleased,  you  know." 

"Yes!  Oh,  uncle,  that  was  it!  When 
Cousin  Sophronia  came,  she  —  she  told  Eliza 
beth  to  have  her  trunks  carried  into  the 
White  Kooms." 

"So!"  said  Mr.  Montfort. 

"  Yes,  uncle  !  I  was  in  the  passage,  and 
heard  her  give  the  order,  and  I  —  I  could 
not  bear  it,  Uncle  John,  I  could  not,  indeed. 
I  flew  up-stairs,  and  brought  down  some  of 
my  things,  —  all  I  could  carry  in  two  trips, 
—  and,  when  they  came  in  with  the  trunk, 
I  —  I  was  sitting  there,  and  —  and  wondering 
why  they  came  into  my  room.  Uncle  John, 
do  you  see  ?  Was  it  very,  very  wicked  ?  " 

For  all  reply,  Mr.  Montfort  went  off  into  a 
fit  of  laughter  so  prolonged  and  violent,  that 
Margaret,  who  at  first  tried  to  join  in  timidly, 
became  alarmed  for  him.  "  Ho  !  ho  !  ho  !  " 
he  laughed,  throwing  his  head  back,  and 
expanding  his  broad  chest.  "  Ha  !  ha !  ha ! 
so  you  —  ho!  ho!  —  you  got  in  first,  little 
miss  !  Why  wasn't  I  there  to  see  ?  Oh,  why 
wasn't  I  there  ?  I  would  give  a  farm,  a  good 


THE    UNEXPECTED.  53 

farm,  to  have  seen  Sophronia's  face.  Tell  me 
about  it  again,  Margaret.  Tell  me  slowly,  so 
that  I  may  see  it  all.  You  have  a  knack  of 
description,  I  know ;  show  me  the  scene." 

Slowly,  half  frightened,  and  wholly  relieved, 
Margaret  went  through  the  matter  from  be 
ginning  to  end,  making  as  light  as  she  could 
of  her  own  triumph,  of  which  she  really  felt 
ashamed,  pleased  as  she  was  to  have  achieved 
it.  When  she  had  finished,  her  uncle  sat 
down  under  a  tree,  and  laughed  again;  not 
so  violently,  but  with  a  hearty  enjoyment 
that  took  in  every  detail. 

"And  Willis  had  a  fit  of  coughing!"  he 
exclaimed,  when  Margaret  had  come  to  the 
last  word.  "  Poor  Willis  !  Willis  must  see  a 
doctor  at  once.  Consumptive,  no  doubt ;  and 
concealed  under  such  a  deceptive  appearance 
of  brawn!  Ho!  Margaret,  my  dear,  I  feel 
better,  much  better.  You  have  cleared  the 
air  for  me,  my  child." 

"  You  —  are  not  angry,  then,  Uncle  John? 
You  don't  think  I  ought  to  have  put  Cousin 
Sophronia  in  the  rooms?" 

"My  love,  they  should  have  been  burned 


54  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

to  the  ground  sooner.  There  was  only  one 
person  in  the  world  whom  your  Aunt  Faith 
could  not  endure,  and  that  person  was  So- 
phronia  Montfort.  You  did  perfectly  right, 
Margaret ;  more  right  than  you  knew.  If  she 
had  got  into  the  White  Rooms,  I  should  have 
been  under  the  necessity  of  taking  her  forcibly 
out  of  them  (nothing  short  of  force  could  have 
done  it),  and  that  would  have  created  an  un 
pleasantness,  you  see.  Yes !  Thank  you,  my 
dear  little  girl!  I  feel  quite  myself  again. 
We  shall  worry  through,  somehow;  but  re 
member,  Margaret,  that  you  are  the  mistress 
of  Fernley,  and,  if  you  have  any  trouble, 
come  to  me.  And  now,  my  love,  we  must 
go  home  to  tea ! " 

When  the  gong  rang  for  tea,  Margaret  and 
her  uncle  entered  the  dining-room  together  - 
to  find  Cousin  Sophronia  already  seated  at 
the  head  of   the  table,  rattling  the   teacups 
with  intention. 

"  Well,  my  dears !  "  she  cried,  in  sprightly 
tones.  "You  walked  further  than  you  in 
tended,  did  you  not?  I  should  not  have 
sat  down  without  you,  but  I  was  simply 


THE    UNEXPECTED.  55 

famished.  I  always  think  punctuality  such 
an  important  factor  in  the  economy  of  life. 
It  is  high  time  you  had  some  steady  head  to 
look  after  you,  John !  "  and  she  shook  her 
head  in  affectionate  playfulness.  "  Sit  down, 
John !  " 

Mr.  Montfort  did  not  sit  down. 

"  I  am  sorry  you  were  hungry,  Sophronia," 
he  said,  kindly.  "  I  cannot  think  of  letting 
you  wait  to  pour  tea  for  me,  my  dear  cousin. 
Margaret  does  that  always ;  you  are  to  sit 
here  by  me,  and  begin  at  once  upon  your 
own  supper.  Allow  me  !  " 

Margaret  hardly  knew  how  it  was  done. 
There  was  a  bow,  a  courtly  wave  of  the 
hand,  a  movement  of  chairs ;  and  her  own 
place  was  vacant,  and  Cousin  Sophronia  was 
sitting  at  the  side  place,  very  red  in  the  face, 
her  eyes  snapping  out  little  green  lights  ;  and 
Uncle  John  was  bending  over  her  with  cor 
dial  kindness,  pushing  her  chair  in  a  little 
further,  and  lifting  the  train  of  her  dress 
out  of  the  way.  With  downcast  eyes,  Mar 
garet  took  her  place,  and  poured  the  tea  in 
silence.  She  felt  as  if  a  weight  were  on  her 


Ot)  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

eyelids;  she  could  not  lift  her  eyes;  she 
could  not  speak,  and  yet  she  must.  She 
shook  herself,  and  made  a  great  effort. 

"How  do  you  like  your  tea,  Cousin  So- 
phronia?"  she  asked,  in  a  voice  that  tried 
to  sound  cheerful  and  unconcerned.  And, 
when  she  had  spoken,  she  managed,  with 
another  effort,  to  look  up.  Cousin  Sophronia 
was  smiling  and  composed,  and  met  her  timid 
glance  with  an  affectionate  nod. 

"Weak,  my  dear,  if  you  please, — weak, 
with  cream  and  sugar.  Yes, — that  will  be  ex 
cellent,  I  have  no  doubt.  I  have  to  be  a  little 
exact  about  my  tea,  my  nerves  being  what 
they  are.  The  nights  I  have,  if  my  tea  is  not 
precisely  the  right  shade !  It  seems  absurd, 
but  life  is  made  up  of  little  things,  my  dear 
John.  And  very  right  and  wise,  to  have  the 
dear  child  learn  to  do  these  things,  and  prac 
tise  on  us,  even  if  it  is  a  little  trying  at 
first.  Is  that  the  beef  tea,  Elizabeth  ?  Thank 
you.  I  told  Frances  to  make  me  some  beef 
tea,  John ;  I  knew  hers  could  be  depended 
on,  though  I  suppose  she  has  grown  rusty  in 
a  good  many  ways,  with  this  hermit  life  of 


THE    UNEXPECTED.  57 

yours,  —  so  bad  for  a  cook,  I  always  think. 
Yes,  this  is  fair,  but  not  quite  what  I  should 
have  expected  from  Frances.  I  must  see  her 
in  the  morning,  and  give  her  a  good  rousing ; 
we  all  need  a  good  rousing  once  in  awhile. 
Frances  and  I  have  always  been  the  best  of 
friends ;  we  shall  get  on  perfectly,  I  have  no 
doubt.  Ah !  The  old  silver  looks  well,  John. 
Where  did  that  sugar-bowl  come  from  ?  Is  it 
Montf ort,  or  Paston  ?  Paston,  I  fancy !  The 
Montfort  silver  is  heavier,  eh  ?  " 

"Possibly!"  said  Mr.  Montfort.  "That 
sugar-bowl  is  neither  one  nor  the  other,  how 
ever.  It  is  Dutch." 

"Really!  Vanderdecken  ?  I  didn't  know 
you  had  any  Vanderdecken  silver,  John. 
Grandmother  Vanderdecken  left  all  her  sil 
ver,  I  thought,  to  our  branch.  Such  a  mis 
take,  I  always  think,  to  scatter  family  silver. 
Let  each  branch  have  all  that  belongs  to  it,  I 
always  say.  I  feel  very  strongly  about  it." 

"This  is  not  Vanderdecken,"  said  Mr. 
Montfort,  patiently.  "  I  bought  it  in  Amster 
dam." 

"  Oh !    in  Amsterdam  !    indeed  !    boughten 


58  MAKGARET    MONTFORT. 

silver  never  appeals  to  me.  And  speaking  of 
silver,  I  have  wished  for  years  that  I  could 
find  a  trace  of  the  old  Vanderdecken  por 
ringer.  You  remember  it,  surely,  John,  at 
Grandmother  Vanderdecken' s  ?  She  had  her 
plum  porridge  in  it  every  night,  and  I  used  to 
play  with  the  cow  on  the  cover.  I  have 
tried  and  tried  to  trace  it,  but  have  never 
succeeded.  Stolen,  I  fear,  by  some  dishonest 
servant." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Cousin  Sophronia," 
said  Margaret,  blushing.  "I  have  the  old 
Vanderdecken  porringer,  if  it  is  the  one  with 
the  cow  on  the  cover." 

"  You  !  "  cried  Miss  Sophronia,  opening  her 
eyes  to  their  fullest  extent. 

"  Yes,"  Margaret  replied.  "  There  it  is,  on 
the  sideboard.  I  have  eaten  bread  and  milk 
out  of  it  ever  since  I  can  remember,  and  I 
still  use  it  at  breakfast." 

Speechless  for  the  moment,  Miss  Sophronia 
made  an  imperious  sign  to  Elizabeth,  who 
brought  her  the  beautiful  old  dish,  not  with 
out  a  glance  of  conscious  pride  at  the  wonder 
ful  blue  polish  on  it.  There  was  no  piece  of 


THE    UNEXPECTED.  59 

plate  in  the  house  that  took  so  perfect  a 
polish  as  this. 

Miss  Sophronia  turned  it  over  and  over. 
Her  eyes  were  very  green.  "  Margaret 
Bleecker.  On  the  occasion  of  her  christen 
ing,  from  her  godmother/'  she  read.  "  Yes, 
this  is  certainly  the  Vanderdecken  porringer. 
And  may  I  ask  how  you  came  by  it,  my 
dear?"  * 

"  Certainly,  Cousin  Sophronia.  Aunt  Eliza 
Vanderdecken  gave  it  to  me  at  my  christen 
ing  ;  she  was  my  godmother,  you  see." 

"A  most  extraordinary  thing  for  Eliza 
Vanderdecken  to  do  !  "  cried  the  lady.  "  Eliza 
Vanderdecken  knew,  of  course,  that  she  was 
meant  to  have  but  a  life-interest  in  the  per 
sonal  property,  as  she  never  married.  I  can 
not  understand  Eliza's  doing  such  a  thing.  I 
have  longed  all  my  life  for  this  porringer; 
I  have  associations  with  it,  you  see,  lifelong 
associations.  I  remember  my  Grandmother 
Vanderdecken  distinctly ;  you  never  saw  her, 
of  course,  as  she  died  years  before  you  were 
born." 

"  Yes,"    said    Margaret,   gently,    but    not 


60  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

without  intention.  "  And  I,  Cousin  Sophro 
nia,  associate  it  with  Aunt  Eliza,  whom  I 
remember  distinctly,  and  who  was  my  god 
mother,  and  very  kind  to  me.  I  value  this 
porringer  more  than  almost  any  of  my  posses 
sions.  Thank  you,  Elizabeth;  if  you  would 
put  it  back,  please.  Will  you  have  some  more 
tea,  Cousin  Sophronia  ?  " 

"  Let  me  give  you  another  bit  of  chicken, 
Sophronia ! "  said  Mr.  Montfort,  heartily. 
"  I  think  we  have  had  enough  about  porrin 
gers,  haven't  we  ?  There  are  six  or  seven,  I 
believe,  in  the  strong  closet.  One  of  'em  was 
Adam's,  I've  always  been  told.  A  little  gravy, 
Sophronia?  You're  eating  nothing." 

"  I  have  no  appetite  !  "  said  Miss  Sophronia. 
"  You  know  I  only  eat  to  support  life,  John. 
A  side-bone,  then,  if  you  insist,  and  a  tiny  bit 
of  the  breast.  William  always  says,  '  You 
must  live, '  and  I  suppose  I  must.  Cranberry 
sauce  !  Thank  you  !  I  am  really  too  exhausted 
to  enjoy  a  morsel,  but  I  will  make  an  effort. 
We  can  do  what  we  try  to  do,  I  always  say. 
Thank  you,  dearest  John.  I  dare  say  I  shall 
be  better  to-morrow." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE    TRIALS    OF   MARGARET. 

MARGARET  woke  early  the  next  morning, 
and  lay  wondering  where  she  was.  Her  eyes 
were  used  to  opening  on  rose-flowered  walls 
and  mahogany  bed-posts.  Here  all  was  soft 
and  white,  no  spot  of  colour  anywhere.  She 
came  to  herself  with  a  start,  and  yesterday 
with  its  happenings  came  back  to  her.  She 
sighed,  and  a  little  worried  wrinkle  came  on 
her  smooth  forehead.  What  a  change,  in  a  few 
short  hours  !  Was  all  their  peaceful,  dreamy 
life  over,  the  life  that  suited  both  her  and  her 
uncle  so  absolutely  ?  They  had  been  so  happy ! 
Was  it  over  indeed  ?  It  seemed  at  first  as  if 
she  could  not  get  up  and  face  the  cares  of  the 
day,  under  the  new  conditions.  Indolent  by 
nature,  Margaret  dreaded  change,  and  above 
change  unpleasantness ;  it  seemed  as  if  she 
might  have  plenty  of  both.  She  rose  and 

61 


62  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

dressed  in  a  despondent  mood ;  but  when  her 
hair  was  pinned  up  and  her  collar  straight, 
she  took  herself  to  task.  "  I  give  you  three 
minutes !  "  she  said,  looking  at  herself  in  the 
glass.  "  If  you  can't  look  cheerful  by  that 
time,  you  can  go  to  bed  again." 

The  threat,  or  something  else,  carried  the 
point,  for  it  was  an  entirely  cheerful  young 
woman  who  came  into  the  library,  with  a  rose 
for  Uncle  John's  buttonhole.  Miss  Montfort 
was  already  there,  and  responded  with  sad 
sprightliness  to  Margaret's  greeting.  "  Thank 
you,  my  dear !  I  was  just  telling  your  uncle, 
it  is  a  mere  matter  of  form  to  ask  if  I  have 
slept.  I  seldom  sleep,  especially  if  I  am 
up-stairs.  The  servants  over  my  head,  it  may 
be,  —  or  if  not  that,  I  have  the  feeling  of  in 
security, —  stairs,  you  understand,  in  case  of 
fire.  Dear  William  had  my  rooms  fitted  up 
on  the  ground  floor.  '  Sophronia/  he  said, 
'  you  must  sleep  ! '  I  suppose  it  is  necessary, 
but  I  am  so  used  to  lying  awake.  Such 
frightful  noises  in  the  walls,  my  dear  John ! 
Rats,  I  suppose?  Has  the  wainscoting  been 
examined  lately,  in  the  room  you  have  put 


'"AFTERWARDS    SHE    SALLIED    OUT    INTO    THE    GARDEN. 


THE    TRIALS    OF   MARGARET.  63 

me  in  ?  Not  that  it  matters  in  the  least ;  I 
am  the  person  in  the  world  most  easily  suited, 
I  suppose.  A  cot,  a  corner,  a  crust,  as  Wil 
liam  says,  and  I  am  satisfied." 

It  took  several  crusts  to  satisfy  Miss 
Sophronia  at  breakfast.  Afterwards  she  sal 
lied  out  into  the  garden,  where  Mr.  Montfort 
was  enjoying  his  morning  cigar,  with  Margaret 
at  his  side.  "You  dear  child,"  said  the 
sprightly  lady,  "  run  now  and  amuse  yourself, 
or  attend  to  any  little  duties  you  may  have 
set  yourself.  So  important,  I  always  say,  for 
the  young  to  be  regular  in  everything  they 
do.  I  am  sure  you  agree  with  me,  dearest 
John.  I  will  be  your  uncle's  companion,  my 
love ;  that  is  my  duty  and  my  pleasure  now. 
I  must  see  your  roses,  John !  No  one  in  the 
world  loves  roses  as  I  do.  What  do  you  use 
for  them  ?  I  have  a  recipe  for  an  infallible 
wash  ;  I  must  give  it  to  you,  I  must  indeed." 

Margaret  went  into  the  house;  there  was 
no  place  for  her,  for  the  lady  was  leaning  on 
Mr.  Montfort's  arm,  chattering  gaily  in  his 
ear.  Margaret  was  conscious  of  an  unpleas 
ant  sensation  which  was  entirely  new  to  her. 


64  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

She  had  always  been  with  people  she  liked. 
Rita  had  often  distressed  her,  but  still  she 
was  most  lovable,  with  all  her  faults.  Cousin 
Sophronia  was — not  —  lovable,  the  girl  said 
to  herself. 

It  was  a  relief  to  visit  the  kitchen,  and 
find  Frances  beaming  over  her  bread-pan. 
The  good  woman  hailed  Margaret  with  de 
light,  and  received  her  timid  suggestions  as 
to  dinner  with  enthusiasm. 

"  Yes,  Miss  Margaret,  I  do  think  as  a  chick 
en-pie  would  be  the  very  thing.  I've  a  couple 
of  fowl  in  the  house  now,  and  what  would 
you  think  of  putting  in  a  bit  of  ham,  miss  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Margaret.  "  Is  that  what  you 
usually  do,  Frances  ?  Then  I  am  sure  it  will 
be  just  right.  And  about  a  pudding;  what 
do  you  think,  Frances  ?  You  know  so  many 
kinds  of  puddings,  and  they  are  all  so  good !  " 

Well,  Frances  had  been  thinking  that  if  Miss 
Margaret  should  fancy  apple-fritters,  Mr.  Mont- 
fort  was  fond  of  them,  and  they  had  not  had 
them  this  month.  And  lemon-juice  with  them, 
or  a  little  sugar  and  wine;  which  did  Miss 
Margaret  think  would  be  best  ?  This  was  a 


THE    TRIALS    OF    MARGARET.  65 

delightful  way  of  keeping  house;  and  after 
praising  the  bread,  which  was  rising  white 
and  light  in  the  great  pan,  and  poking  the 
bubbles  with  her  little  finger,  and  begging 
that  she  might  be  allowed  to  mix  it  some  day 
soon,  Margaret  went  back  in  a  better  humour 
to  the  White  Rooms,  and  sat  down  resolutely 
to  her  buttonholes.  There  would  be  no  walk 
this  morning,  evidently ;  well,  when  she  had 
done  her  hour's  stint,  she  would  go  for  a  little 
stroll  by  herself.  After  all,  perhaps  Uncle 
John  would,  when  the  strangeness  had  worn 
off  a  little,  enjoy  having  some  one  of  his 
own  age  to  talk  to;  of  course  she  was  very 
young,  too  young  to  be  much  of  a  companion. 
Still,  — 

Well,  she  would  be  cheerful  and  patient, 
and  try  to  make  things  pleasant  so  far  as  she 
could.  And  now  she  could  only  go  and  wish 
Uncle  John  good-bye  when  he  started  for 
town,  and  perhaps  walk  to  the  station  with 
him,  if  he  was  going  to  walk. 

While  she  sat  sewing,  glancing  at  the  clock 
from  time  to  time,  Cousin  Sophronia  came  in, 
work-bag  in  hand. 


66  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

"He  is  gone!"  she  said,  cheerfully.  "I 
saw  him  off  at  the  gate.  Dearest  John  !  Ex 
cellent,  sterling  John  Montfort!  Such  a 
pleasure  to  be  with  him !  Such  a  joy  to  feel 
that  I  can  make  a  home  for  him !  " 

"Gone!"  echoed  Margaret,  looking  up  in 
dismay.  «  Why,  surely  it  is  not  train  time  !  " 

"An  early  train,  my  love,"  the  lady  ex 
plained.  "Your  dear  uncle  felt  obliged  to 
start  an  hour  earlier  than  usual,  he  explained 
to  me.  These  busy  men  !  And  how  are  you 
occupying  yourself,  my  dear?  Ah!  button 
holes?  Most  necessary!  But,  my  love,  you 
are  working  these  the  wrong  way ! " 

"  No,  I  think  not,"  said  Margaret.  "  This 
is  the  way  I  have  always  made  them,  Cousin 
Sophronia." 

"  Wrong,  my  dear !  Quite  wrong,  I  assure 
you.  Impossible  to  get  a  smooth  edge  if  you 
work  them  that  way.  Let  me  —  h'm  !  yes! 
that  is  fairly  even,  I  confess ;  but  the  other 
way  is  the  correct  one,  you  must  take  my 
word  for  it ;  and  I  will  show  you  how,  with 
pleasure.  So  important,  I  always  say,  to  do 
things  just  as  they  should  be  done ! " 


THE    TRIALS    OF    MARGARET.  67 

In  vain  Margaret  protested  that  she  under 
stood  the  other  way,  but  preferred  this.  She 
finally,  for  quiet's  sake,  yielded,  and  pricked 
her  fingers,  and  made  herself  hot  and  cross, 
working  the  wrong  way. 

Miss  Sophronia  next  began  to  cross-question 
her  about  Mrs.  Cheriton's  last  days.  Such  a 
saintly  woman !  Austere,  some  thought ;  per 
haps  not  always  charitable  — 

"  Oh ! "  cried  Margaret,  indignant.  «  Cousin 
Sophronia,  you  cannot  have  known  Aunt  Faith 
at  all.  She  was  the  very  soul  of  charity ;  and 
as  for  being  austere  — but  it  is  evident  you 
did  not  know  her."  She  tried  to  keep  down 
her  rising  temper,  with  thoughts  of  the  sweet, 
serene  eyes  that  had  never  met  hers  without  a 
look  of  love. 

"I  knew  her  before  you  were  born,  my 
dear !  "  said  Miss  Sophronia,  with  a  slightly 
acid  smile.  « Oh,  yes,  I  was  intimately  ac 
quainted  with  dear  Aunt  Faith.  I  have  never 
thought  it  right  to  be  blind  to  people's  little 
failings,  no  matter  how  much  we  love  them. 
I  always  tell  my  brother  William,  <  William, 
do  not  ask  me  to  be  blind !  Ask  me,  expect 


68  MARGARET   MONTFORT. 

me,  to  be  indulgent,  to  be  devoted,  to  be  self- 
sacrificing,  —  but  not  blind ;  blindness  is  con 
trary  to  my  nature,  and  you  must  not  expect 
it.'  Yes !  And  —  what  was  done  with  the 
clothes,  my  dear?" 

"  The  clothes  ?"  echoed  Margaret.  "Aunt 
Faith's  clothes,  do  you  mean,  Cousin  So- 
phronia  ?  " 

"No.  I  meant  the  Montfort  clothes;  the 
heirlooms,  my  dear.  But  perhaps  you  never 
saw  them  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  have  seen  them  often,"  said 
Margaret.  "  They  are  in  the  cedar  chest, 
Cousin  Sophronia,  where  they  have  always 
been.  It  is  in  the  deep  closet  there,"  she 
nodded  towards  an  alcove  at  the  other  end  of 
the  room. 

Miss  Sophronia  rose  with  alacrity.  "  Ah  ! 
I  think  I  will  look  them  over.  Very  valu 
able,  some  of  those  clothes  are ;  quite  unsuit 
able,  I  have  thought  for  some  years,  to  have 
them  under  the  charge  of  an  aged  person, 
who  could  not  in  the  course  of  nature  be 
expected  to  see  to  them  properly.  I  fear  I 
shall  find  them  in  a  sad  condition." 


THE    TRIALS    OF    MARGARET.  69 

Her  hand  was  already  on  the  door,  when 
Margaret  was  able  to  speak.  "Excuse  me, 
Cousin  Sophronia ;  the  chest  is  locked." 

"  Very  proper !  Entirely  proper  !  "  cried  the 
lady.  "  And  you  have  the  key  ?  That  will  not 
do,  will  it,  my  love  ?  Too  heavy  for  these  dear 
young  shoulders,  such  a  weight  of  responsibil 
ity  !  I  will  take  entire  charge  of  this ;  not  a 
word !  It  will  be  a  pleasure  !  Where  is  the 
key,  did  you  say,  love  ?  " 

"  Uncle  John  has  the  key !  "  said  Margaret, 
quietly;  and  blamed  herself  severely  for  the 
pleasure  she  felt  in  saying  it. 

"  Oh !  "  Miss  Montfort  paused,  her  hand  on 
the  door ;  for  a  moment  she  seemed  at  a  loss ; 
but  she  went  on  again. 

"Right,  Margaret!  Very  right,  my  love! 
You  felt  yourself,  or  your  uncle  felt  for  you, 
the  unfitness  of  your  having  charge  of  such 
valuables.  Ahem!  I  —  no  doubt  dear  John 
will  give  me  the  key,  as  soon  as  I  mention  it. 
I  —  I  shall  not  speak  of  it  at  once;  there  is 
no  hurry  —  except  for  the  danger  of  moth. 
An  old  house  like  Fernley  is  always  riddled 
with  moth.  I  fear  the  clothes  must  be  quite 


70  MARGARET   MONTFORT. 

eaten  away  with  them.  Such  a  sad  pity !  The 
accumulation  of  generations  !  " 

Margaret  hastened  to  assure  her  that  the 
clothes  were  looked  over  regularly  once  a 
month,  and  that  no  sign  of  moths  had  ever 
been  found  in  them.  Miss  Sophronia  sighed 
and  shook  her  head,  and  crocheted  for  some 
minutes  in  silence ;  she  was  making  a  brown 
and  yellow  shoulder-shawl.  Margaret  thought 
she  had  never  seen  a  shawl  so  ugly. 

"  Has  Cousin  William  Montf ort  any  daugh 
ters?"  she  asked,  presently,  thinking  it  her 
turn  to  bear  some  of  the  burden  of  entertain 
ment. 

"  Four,  my  dear ! "  was  the  prompt  reply. 
"  Sweet  girls !  young,  heedless,  perhaps  not 
always  considerate;  but  the  sweetest  girls 
in  the  world.  Amelia  is  just  your  age; 
what  a  companion  she  would  be  for  you ! 
Dear  Margaret !  I  must  write  to  William,  I 
positively  must,  and  suggest  his  asking  you 
for  a  good  long  visit.  Such  a  pleasure  for 
you  and  for  Amelia !  Not  a  word,  my  dear !  I 
shall  consider  it  a  duty,  a  positive  duty! 
Amelia  is  thought  to  resemble  me  in  many 


THE    TRIALS    OF   MARGARET.  71 

ways ;  she  is  the  image  of  what  I  was  at  -her 
age.     I  am  forming  her ;  her  mother  is  some 
thing  of  an  invalid,  as  I  think  I  have  told  you. 
The  older  girls  are  away  from  home  just  now, 
—  they   make   a   good   many   visits;    I    am 
always  there,  and  they  feel  that  they  can  go. 
Tf  they  were  at  home,  I  should  beg  dear  John 
Montfort  to  invite  Amelia  here ;  such  a  pleas 
ure  for  him,  to  have  young  life  in  the  house. 
But  as  it  is,  William  must  ask  you.     Consider 
it  settled,  my  love.    A  —  what  was  done  with 
Aunt  Faith's  jewels,  my  dear  ?  She  had  some 
fine  pearls,  I  remember.     Yanderdecken  pearls 
they  were  originally ;  I  should  hardly  suppose 
Aunt  Faith  would  have  felt  that  she  had  more 
than  a  life  interest  in  them.     And  the  great 
amethyst  necklace  ;  did  she  ever  show  you  her 
jewels,  my  love  ?  " 

Margaret  blushed,  and  braced  herself  to 
meet  the  shock.  "I  have  them,  Cousin 
Sophronia !  "  she  said,  meekly.  "  Aunt  Faith 
wanted  me  to  have  all  her  jewels,  and  she 
gave  them  to  me  before  —  before  she  died." 
Her  voice  failed,  and  the  tears  rushed  to  her 
eyes.  She  was  thinking  of  the  frail,  white- 


MARGARET   MONTFORT. 

clad  figure  bending  over  the  ancient  jewel-box, 
and  taking  out  the  pearls.  She  heard  the  soft 
voice  saying, «  Your  great-grandmother's  pearls, 
my  Margaret;  they  are  yours  now.  Wear 
them  for  me,  and  let  me  have  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  them  on  your  neck.  You  are  my 
pearl,  Margaret ;  the  only  pearl  I  care  for 
now."  Dear,  dearest  Aunt  Faith.  Why  was 
she  not  here  ? 

Before  Miss  Sophronia  could  recover  her 
power  of  speech,  a  knock  came  at  the  door. 

"  !  beg  jour  pardon,  Miss  Margaret !  "  said 
Elizabeth,  putting  her  head  in,  in  answer  to 
Margaret's  "Come  in!"  "The  butcher  is 
here,  miss,  and  Frances  thought  perhaps, 
would  you  come  out  and  see  him,  miss  ?  " 

"Certainly!"  said  Margaret,  rising;  but 
Miss  Sophronia  was  too  quick  for  her. 

"In  a  moment!"  she  cried,  cheerfully. 
"  Tell  Frances  I  will  be  there  in  a  moment, 
Elizabeth  !  Altogether  too  much  for  you,  dear 
Margaret,  to  have  so  much  care.  /  cannot 
have  too  much  care!  It  is  what  I  live  for; 
give  the  household  matters  no  further  thought, 
I  beg  of  you.  You  might  be  setting  your 


THE    TRIALS    OF    MARGARET. 

bureau  drawers  in  order,  if  you  like,  while  I 
am  seeing  the  butcher;  I  always  look  over 
Amelia's  drawers  once  a  week  —  " 

She  glided  away,  leaving  Margaret  white 
with  anger.  How  was  she  to  endure  this  ? 
She  was  nearly  eighteen ;  she  had  taken  care 
of  herself  ever  since  she  was  seven,  and  had 
attained,  or  so  she  fancied,  perfection,  in  the 
matter  of  bureau-drawers,  at  the  age  of  twelve. 
To  have  her  precious  arrangements  looked 
over,  her  boxes  opened,  her  —  oh,  there  could 
be,  there  was  no  reason  why  she  should  submit 
to  this !  She  locked  the  drawers  quietly,  one 
after  the  other,  and  put  the  key  in  her 
pocket.  She  would  be  respectful ;  she  would 
be  civil  always,  and  cordial  when  she  could, 
but  she  would  not  be  imposed  upon. 

By  the  time  Miss  Sophronia  came  back, 
Margaret  was  composed,  and  greeted  her 
cousin  with  a  pleasant  smile ;  but  this  time  it 
was  the  lady  who  was  agitated.  She  came 
hurrying  in,  her  face  red,  her  air  perturbed. 
"  Insufferable  !  "  she  cried,  as  soon  as  the  door 
was  closed.  "  Margaret,  that  woman  is  insuf 
ferable  !  She  must  leave  at  once." 


74  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

"Woman!  what  woman,  Cousin  Sophronia?" 
asked  Margaret,  looking  up  in  amazement. 

"  That  Frances  !  She  —  why,  she  is  imperti 
nent,  Margaret.  She  insulted  me;  insulted 
me  grossly.  I  shall  speak  to  John  Montfort 
directly  he  returns.  She  must  go ;  I  cannot 
stay  in  the  house  with  her." 

Go!  Frances,  who  had  been  at  Fernley 
twenty  years  ;  for  whom  the  new  kitchen,  now 
only  fifteen  years  old,  had  been  planned  and 
arranged!  Margaret  was  struck  dumb  for  a 
moment ;  but  recovering  herself,  she  tried  to 
soothe  the  angry  lady,  assuring  her  that 
Frances  could  not  have  meant  to  be  disrespect 
ful  ;  that  she  had  a  quick  temper,  but  was  so 
good  and  faithful,  and  so  attached  to  Uncle 
John ;  and  so  on.  In  another  moment,  to  her 
great  discomfiture,  Miss  Sophronia  burst  into 
tears,  declared  that  she  was  alone  in  the 
world,  that  no  one  loved  her  or  wanted  her, 
and  that  she  was  the  most  unhappy  of  women. 
Filled  with  remorseful  pity,  Margaret  bent 
over  her,  begging  her  not  to  cry.  She  brought 
a  smelling-bottle,  and  Miss  Sophronia  clutched 
it,  sobbing,  and  told  Margaret  she  was  an 


THE    TKIALS    OF    MARGARET.  75 

angelic  child.  "This  —  this  is  —  a  Vander- 
decken  vinaigrette!''  she  said,  between  her 
sobs.  "Did  Eliza  Vanderdecken  give  you 
this,  too?  Very  singular  of  Eliza!  But  she 
never  had  any  sense  of  fitness.  Thank  you 
my  dear !  I  suffer  —  no  living  creature  knows 
what  I  suffer  with  my  nerves.  I  —  shall  be 
better  soon.  Don't  mind  anything  I  said ;  I 
must  suffer,  but  it  shall  always  be  in  silence , 
I  always  maintain  that.  No  one  shall  know ; 
I  never  speak  of  it ;  I  am  the  grave,  for 
silence.  Do  not  —  do  not  tell  your  uncle, 
Margaret,  how  you  have  seen  me  suffer.  Do 
not  betray  my  momentary  weakness  !  " 

"  Certainly  not !  "  said  Margaret,  heartily. 
"  I  will  not  say  a  word,  Cousin  Sophronia,  of 
course !  " 

"  He  would  wish  to  know ! "  said  Miss 
Sophronia,  smothering  a  sob  into  a  sigh. 
"John  Montfort  would  be  furious  if  he 
thought  I  was  ill-treated,  and  we  were  con 
cealing  it  from  him.  He  is  a  lion  when  once 
roused.  Ah !  I  should  be  sorry  for  that 
woman.  But  forgiveness  is  a  duty,  my  dear, 
and  I  forgive.  See !  I  am  myself  again. 


76  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

Quite  —  "  with  a  hysterical  giggle  —  "  quite 
myself !  I  —  I  will  take  the  vinaigrette  to  my 
room  with  me,  I  think,  my  dear.  Thank 
you !  Dear  Margaret !  cherub  child !  how  you 
have  comforted  me!"  She  went,  and  Mar 
garet  heard  her  sniffing  along  the  entry ; 
heard,  and  told  herself  she  had  no  business  to 
notice  such  things;  and  went  back  rather 
ruefully  to  her  buttonholes. 


CHAPTER   V. 

A   NEW    TYPE. 

"  MY  child,  I  thought  you  were  never  com 
ing  again  !  "  said  Mrs.  Peyton.  "  Do  you 
know  that  it  is  a  week  since  I  have  seen  you  ? 
I  have  been  destroyed,  —  positively  destroyed, 
with  solitude." 

"  I  am  so  sorry,"  said  Margaret.  "  I  could 
not  come  before ;  truly  I  could  not,  Mrs.  Pey 
ton.  And  how  have  you  been  ?  " 

Mrs.  Peyton  leaned  back  on  her  pillows, 
with  a  little  laugh.  "  Who  cares  how  I  have 
been?"  she  said,  lightly.  "What  does  it 
matter  how  I  have  been?  Tell  me  some 
news,  Margaret.  I  must  have  news.  You 
are  alive,  you  move,  and  have  your  being; 
tell  me  something  that  will  make  me  feel 
alive,  too." 

Margaret  looked  at  the  lady,  and  thought 
she  looked  very  much  alive.  She  was  a  vision 

77 


78  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

of  rose  colour,  from  the  silk  jacket  fluttering 
with  ribbons,  to  the  pink  satin  that  shim 
mered  through  the  lace  bedspread.  The  rosy 
colour  almost  tinted  her  cheeks,  which  were 
generally  the  hue  of  warm  ivory.  Her  hair, 
like  crisped  threads  of  gold,  was  brought 
down  low  on  her  forehead,  hiding  any  lines 
that  might  have  been  seen  there ;  it  was 
crowned  by  a  bit  of  cobweb  lace,  that  seemed 
too  slight  to  support  the  pink  ribbon  that 
held  it  together.  The  lady's  hands  were 
small,  and  exquisitely  formed,  and  she  wore 
several  rings  of  great  value ;  her  eyes  were 
blue  and  limpid,  her  features  delicate  and 
regular.  Evidently,  this  had  been  a  great 
beauty.  To  Margaret,  gazing  at  her  in 
honest  admiration,  she  was  still  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  creatures  that  could  be  seen. 
Mrs.  Peyton  laughed  under  the  girl's  simple 
look  of  pleasure.  "  You  like  my  new  jacket?" 
she  said.  "  The  doctor  never  so  much  as  no 
ticed  it  this  morning.  I  think  I  shall  send 
him  away,  and  get  another,  who.  has  eyes  in 
his  head.  You  are  the  only  person  who 
really  cares  for  my  clothes,  Margaret,  and 


A   NEW    TYPE.  79 

they   are   the   only   interest   I   have    in   the 
world." 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  talk  so ! "  said  Mar 
garet,  colouring.  "  You  don't  mean  it,  and 
why  will  you  say  it?" 

"  I  do  mean  it !  "  said  the  beautiful  lady. 
"  I  mean  every  word  of  it.  There's  nothing 
else  to  care  for,  except  you,  you  dear  little 
old-fashioned  thing.  I  like  you,  because  you 
are  quaint  and  truthful.  Have  you  seen  my 
pink  pearl?  You  are  not  half  observant, 
that's  the  trouble  with  you,  Margaret  Mont- 
fort." 

She  held  out  her  slender  hand ;  Margaret 
took  it,  and  bent  over  it  affectionately. 
"  Oh,  what  a  beautiful  ring ! "  she  cried. 
"I  never  saw  a  pink  pearl  like  this  before, 
Mrs.  Peyton,  so  brilliant,  and  such  a  deep 
rose  colour.  Isn't  it  very  wonderful  ?  " 

"  The  jeweller  thought  so,"  said  Mrs.  Pey 
ton.  "  He  asked  enough  for  it ;  it  might  have 
been  the  companion  to  Cleopatra's.  The  opal 
setting  is  pretty,  too,  don't  you  think  ?  And 
I  have  some  new  stones.  You  will  like  to  see 
those." 


80  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

She  took  up  a  small  bag  of  chamois  leather, 
that  lay  on  the  bed  beside  her,  opened  it,  and 
a  handful  of  precious  stones  rolled  out  on  the 
lace  spread.  Margaret  caught  after  one  and 
another  in  alarm.  "  Oh !  Oh,  Mrs.  Peyton, 
they  frighten  me!  Why,  this  diamond  —  I 
never  saw  such  a  diamond.  It's  as  big  as 
a  pea." 

"Imperfect!  "  said  the  lady.  "A  flaw  in  it, 
you  see ;  but  the  colour  is  good,  and  it  does 
just  as  well  for  a  plaything,  though  I  don't 
like  flawed  things,  as  a  rule.  This  sapphire 
is  a  good  one,  —  deep,  you  see ;  I  like  a  deep 
sapphire." 

"  This  light  one  is  nearer  your  eyes," 
said  Margaret,  taking  up  a  lovely  clear  blue 
stone. 

"  Flatterer  !  People  used  to  say  that  once ; 
a  long  time  ago.  Heigh  ho,  Margaret,  don't 
ever  grow  old  !  Take  poison,  or  throw  your 
self  out  of  the  window,  but  don't  grow  old. 
It's  a  shocking  thing  to  do." 

Margaret  looked  at  her  friend  with  troubled, 
affectionate  eyes,  and  laid  her  hand  on  the 
jewelled  fingers. 


A    NEW    TYPE.  81 

"Oh,  I  mean  it!"  said  the  lady,  with  a 
pretty  little  grimace.  "  I  mean  it,  Miss  Puri 
tan.  See  !  Here's  a  pretty  emerald.  But  you 
haven't  told  me  the  news.  Mr.  Montfort  is 
well  always?" 

"  Always  !  "  said  Margaret.  "  We  —  we 
have  a  visitor  just  now,  Mrs.  Peyton, — 
some  one  you  know." 

"Some  one  I  know?"  cried  Mrs.  Peyton. 
"  I  thought  every  one  I  knew  was  dead  and 
buried.  Who  is  it,  child  ?  Don't  keep  me  in 
suspense.  Can't  you  see  that  I  am  palpitat 
ing?" 

She  laughed,  arid  looked  so  pretty,  and  so 
malicious,  that  Margaret  wanted  to  kiss  and 
to  shake  her  at  the  same  moment. 

"It  is  a  cousin  of  Uncle  John's  and  of 
mine,"  she  said ;  "  Miss  Sophronia  Mont- 
fort." 

"  What !  "  cried  Mrs.  Peyton,  sitting  up  in 
bed.  "Sophronia  Montfort?  You  are  jok 
ing,  Margaret." 

Assured  that  Margaret  was  not  joking,  she 
fell  back  again  on  her  pillows.  "  Sophronia 
Montfort!"  she  said,  laughing  softly.  "I 


82  MARGARET   MONTFORT. 

have  not  heard  of  her  since  the  flood.  How 
does  John  —  how  does  Mr.  Montfort  endure 
it,  Pussy?  He  was  not  always  a  patient 


man." 


Margaret  thought  her  uncle  one  of  the  most 
patient  men  she  had  ever  seen. 

"  And  how  many  men  have  you  seen,  little 
girl  ?  Never  mind !  I  will  allow  him  all  the 
qualities  of  the  Patient  Patriarch.  He  will 
need  them  all,  if  he  is  to  have  Sophronia 
long.  I  am  sorry  for  you,  Pussy!  Come 
over  as  often  as  you  can  to  see  me.  I  am 
dull,  but  there  are  worse  things  than  dull 


ness." 


This  was  not  very  encouraging. 

"  She  —  Cousin  Sophronia  —  sent  you  a 
great  many  messages,"  Margaret  said,  tun- 
idly.  "  She  —  is  very  anxious  to  see  you, 
Mrs.  Peyton.  She  would  like  to  come  over 
some  morning,  and  spend  an  hour  with  you." 

"  If  she  does,  I'll  poison  her ! "  said  Mrs. 
Peyton,  promptly.  "  Don't  look  shocked,  Mar 
garet  Montfort ;  I  shall  certainly  do  as  I  say. 
Sophronia  comes  here  at  peril  of  her  life,  and 
you  may  tell  her  so  with  my  compliments." 


A   NEW    TYPE.  83 

Margaret  sat  silent  and  distressed,  not 
knowing  what  to  say.  She  had  known 
very  few  people  in  her  quiet  life,  and  this 
beautiful  lady,  whom  she  admired  greatly, 
also  puzzled  her  sadly. 

"I  cannot  tell  her  that,  can  I,  dear  Mrs. 
Peyton  ?  "  she  said,  at  last.  "  I  shall  tell  her 
that  you  are  not  well,  —  that  is  true,  most 
certainly,  —  and  that  you  do  not  feel  able 
to  see  her." 

"Tell  her  what  you  please,"  said  Emily 
Peyton,  laughing  again.  "If  she  comes,  I 
shall  poison  her,  —  that  is  my  first  and  last 
word.  Tell  her?  Tell  her  that  Emily  Pey 
ton  is  a  wreck ;  that  she  lies  here  like  a  log, 
week  after  week,  month  after  month,  caring 
for  nothing,  no  one  caring  for  her,  except 
a  kind  little  girl,  who  is  frightened  at  her 
wild  talk.  I  might  try  the  poison  on  myself 
first,  Margaret ;  what  do  you  think  of  that  ?  " 
Then,  seeing  Margaret's  white,  shocked  face, 
she  laughed  again,  and  fell  to  tossing  the 
gems  into  the  air,  and  catching  them  as  they 
fell.  "  It  would  be  a  pity,  though,  just  when 
I  have  got  all  these  new  playthings.  Did  you 


84  MARGARET   MONTFORT. 

bring  a  book  to  read  to  me,  little  girl?  1 
can't  abide  reading,  but  I  like  to  hear  your 
voice.  You  have  something,  I  see  it  in 
your  guilty  face.  Poetry,  I'll  be  bound. 
Out  with  it,  witch !  You  hope  to  bring  me 
to  a  sense  of  the  error  of  my  ways.  Why, 
I  used  to  read  poetry,  Margaret,  by  the  dozen 
yards.  Byron,  —  does  any  one  read  Byron 
nowadays  ?  " 

"  My  father  was  fond  of  Byron,"  said  Mar 
garet.  "  He  used  to  read  me  bits  of  '  Childe 
Harold'  and  the  ' Corsair;'  I  liked  them, 
and  I  always  loved  the  '  Assyrian.'  But  — 
I  thought  you  might  like  something  bright 
and  cheerful  to-day,  Mrs.  Peyton,  so  I  brought 
Austin  Dobson.  Are  you  fond  of  Dobson?" 

"  Never  heard  of  him  !  "  said  the  lady,  care 
lessly.  "Read  whatever  you  like,  child; 
your  voice  always  soothes  me.  Will  you 
come  and  be  my  companion,  Margaret  ?  Your 
uncle  has  Sophronia  now;  he  cannot  need 
you.  Come  to  me !  You  shall  have  a  thou 
sand,  two  thousand  dollars  a  year,  and  all 
the  jewels  you  want.  I'll  have  these  set  for 
you,  if  you  like." 


"'DID  YOU  BRING  A  BOOK  TO  READ  TO  ME,  LITTLE  GIRL?'" 


A   NEW    TYPE.  85 

She  seemed  only  half  in  earnest,  and  Mar 
garet  laughed.  "You  sent  your  last  com 
panion  away/ you  know,  Mrs.  Peyton/'  she 
said.  "I'm  afraid  I  should  not  suit  you, 
either." 

"My  dear,  that  woman  ate  apples!  No 
one  could  endure  that,  you  know.  Ate  — 
champed  apples  in  my  ears,  and  threw  the 
cores  into  my  grate.  Positively,  she  smelt  of 
apples  all  day  long.  I  had  to  have  the  room 
fumigated  when  she  left.  A  dreadful  person  ! 
One  of  her  front  teeth  was  movable,  too,  and 
set  me  distracted  every  time  she  opened  her 
mouth.  Are  you  ever  going  to  begin  ?  " 

Margaret  read  two  or  three  of  her  favourite 
poems,  but  with  little  heart  in  her  reading, 
for  she  felt  that  her  listener  was  not  listen 
ing.  Now  and  then  would  come  an  impatient 
sigh,  or  a  fretful  movement  of  the  jewelled 
hands ;  once  a  sapphire  was  tossed  up  in  the 
air,  and  fell  on  the  floor  by  Margaret's  feet. 
Only  when  she  began  the  lovely  "  Good  Night, 
Babette ! "  did  Mrs.  Peyton's  attention  seem 
to  fix.  She  listened  quietly,  and,  at  the  end, 
drew  a  deep  breath. 


86  MARGARET   MONTFORT. 

"You  call  that  bright  and  cheerful,  do 
you?"  Mrs.  Peyton  murmured.  "Every 
thing  looks  cheerful  in  the  morning.  Good 
night,  —  <I  grow  so  old/  —  how  dare  you 
read  me  such  a  thing  as  that,  Margaret 
Montfort  ?  It  is  an  impertinence." 

"  Indeed,"  said  Margaret,  colouring,  and 
now  really  wounded.  "I  do  not  understand 
you  at  all  to-day,  Mrs.  Peyton.  I  don't  seem 
to  be  able  to  please  you,  and  it  is  time  for 
me  to  go." 

She  rose,  and  the  lady,  her  mood  changing 
again  in  an  instant,  took  her  two  hands,  and 
drew  her  close  to  her  side. 

"  You  are  my  only  comfort,"  she  said. 
"  Do  you  hear  that  ?  You  are  the  only 
person  in  this  whole  dreadful  place  that  I 
would  give  the  half  of  a  burnt  straw  to 
see.  Remember  that,  when  I  behave  too 
abominably.  Yes,  go  now,  for  I  am  going 
to  have  a  bad  turn.  Send  Antonia ;  and 
come  again  soon  —  soon,  do  you  hear,  Mar 
garet  ?  But  remember  —  remember  that  the 
poison-bowl  waits  for  Sophronia  ! " 

"What  —  shall  I  give  her  any  message  ?" 


A   NEW    TYPE. 


87 


said  poor  Margaret,  as  she  bent  to  kiss  the 
white  forehead  between  the  glittering  waves 
of  hair. 

"  Give  her  my  malediction,"  said  Mrs.  Pey 
ton.  "  Tell  her  it  is  almost  a  consolation  for 
lying  here,  to  think  I  need  not  see  her.  Tell 
her  anything  you  like.  Go  now !  Good-bye, 
child!  Dear  little  quaint,  funny,  prim  child, 
good-bye  !  " 

Margaret  walked  home  sadly  enough.  She 
loved  and  admired  her  beautiful  friend,  but 
she  did  not  understand  her,  and  there  was 
much  that  she  could  not  approve.  It  seemed 
absurd,  she  often  said  to  herself,  for  a  girl  of 
her  age  to  criticise,  to  venture  to  disapprove, 
of  a  woman  old  enough  to  be  her  mother,  one 
who  had  travelled  the  world  over,  and  knew 
plenty  of  human  nature,  if  little  of  books. 
Yet,  the  thought  would  come  again,  there  was 
no  age  to  right  and  wrong ;  and  there  were 
things  that  it  could  not  be  right  to  think, 
or  kind  to  say,  at  eighteen  or  at  eighty. 
And  her  uncle  did  not  like  Mrs.  Peyton. 
Margaret  felt  that,  without  his  having 


MARGARET    MOKTFORT. 

ever  put  it  into  words.  Still,  she  was  so 
beautiful,  so  fascinating, —  and  so  kind  to 
her!  Perhaps,  unconsciously,  Margaret  did 
miss  a  good  deal  the  two  young  cousins 
who  had  been  with  her  during  her  first 
year  at  Fernley;  surely,  and^  every  hour, 
she  missed  her  Aunt  Faith,  whose  tenderness 
had  been  that  of  the  mother  she  had  never 
known. 

She  was  in  no  haste  to  go  home ;  there  was 
still  an  hour  before  Uncle  John  would  come. 
There  was  little  peace  at  home  in  these  days, 
but  a  prying  eye,  and  a  tongue  that  was  seldom 
still  save  in  sleep.  She  had  left  Elizabeth  in 
tears  to-day,  her  precious  linen  having  been 
pulled  over,  and  all  the  creases  changed  be 
cause  they  ran  the  wrong  way.  In  vain 
Margaret  had  reminded  her  of  the  heroine  of 
the  story  she  had  liked  so  much,  the  angelic 
Elizabeth  of  Hungary.  "  It  don't  make  much 
difference,  Miss  Margaret ! "  Elizabeth  said. 
"  I  am  no  saint,  miss,  and  all  the  roses  in  the 
world  wouldn't  make  my  table-cloths  look  fit 
to  go  on,  now." 

Frances  was  "  neither  to  hold  or  to  bind ;  " 


A   NEW   TYPE.  89 

even  the  two  young  girls  whom  the  elder 
women  had  in  training  were  tossing  their 
heads  and  muttering  over  their  brasses  and 
their  saucepans.  The  apple  of  discord  seemed 
to  be  rolling  all  about  the  once  peaceful  rooms 
of  Fernley  House.  "  I'll  go  home  through  the 
woods/'  said  Margaret,  "  and  see  if  they  have 
begun  work  on  the  bog  yet." 

It  was  lovely  in  the  woods.  Margaret 
thought  there  could  be  no  such  woods  in  the 
world  as  these  of  Fernley.  The  pines  were 
straight  and  tall,  and  there  was  little  or  no 
undergrowth ;  just  clear,  fragrant  stretches  of 
brown  needles,  where  one  could  lie  at  length 
and  look  up  into  the  whispering  green,  and 
watch  the  birds  and  squirrels.  There  was 
moss  here  and  there ;  here  and  there,  too,  a 
bed  of  pale  green  ferns,  delicate  and  plumy ; 
but  most  of  it  was  the  soft  red-brown  carpet 
that  Margaret  loved  better  even  than  ferns. 
She  walked  slowly  along,  drinking  in  beauty 
and  rest  at  every  step.  If  she  could  only 
bring  the  sick  lady  out  here,  she  thought,  to 
breathe  this  life-giving  air  !  Surely  she  would 
be  better!  She  did  not  look  ill  enough  to 


90  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

stay  always  in  bed.     They  must  try  to  bring 
it  about. 

She  stopped  at  the  little  brook,  and  sat 
down  on  a  mossy  stone.  The  water  was  clear 
and  brown,  breaking  into  white  over  the 
pebbles  here  and  there:  How  delightful  it 
would  be  to  take  off  her  shoes  and  stockings, 
and  paddle  about  a  little  !  Peggy,  her  cousin, 
would  have  been  in  the  water  in  an  instant, 
very  likely  shoes  and  all ;  but  Margaret  was 
timid,  and  it  required  some  resolution  to  pull 
off  her  shoes  and  stockings,  and  a  good  deal 
of  glancing  over  her  shoulder,  to  make  sure 
that  no  one  was  in  sight.  Indeed,  who  could 
be?  The  water  was  cool;  oh,  so  cool  and 
fresh  !  She  waded  a  little  way ;  almost  lost  her 
balance  on  a  slippery  stone,  and  fled  back  to 
the  bank,  laughing  and  out  of  breath.  A  frog 
came  up  to  look  at  her,  and  goggled  in  amaze 
ment  ;  she  flipped  water  at  him  with  her  hand, 
and  he  vanished  indignant.  It  would  be  very 
pleasant  to  walk  along  the  bed  of  the  stream, 
as  far  as  the  entrance  to  the  bog  meadow. 
Could  she  venture  so  far  ?  No,  for  after  all,  it 
was  possible  that  some  of  the  workmen  might 


A   NEW   TYPE.  91 

have  arrived  and  might  be  in  the  neighbour 
hood,  though  they  were  not  to  begin  work  till 
the  next  day.  Very  slowly  Margaret  drew 
her  feet  out  of  the  clear  stream  where  they 
twinkled  and  looked  so  white,  —  Margaret  had 
pretty  feet,  —  but  she  could  not  make  up  her 
mind  to  put  on  the  shoes  and  stockings  just 
yet.  She  must  dry  her  feet ;  and  this  moss 
was  delightful  to  walk  on.  So  on  she  went, 
treading  lightly  and  carefully,  finding  every 
step  a  pure  pleasure,  till  she  saw  sunlight 
breaking  through  the  green,  and  knew  that 
she  was  coming  to  the  edge  of  the  peat  bog. 
Ah,  what  memories  this  place  brought  to 
Margaret's  mind  !  She  could  see  her  cousin 
Rita,  springing  out  in  merry  defiance  over  the 
treacherous  green  meadow ;  could  hear  her 
scream,  and  see  her  sinking  deep,  deep,  into 
the  dreadful  blackness  below.  Then,  like  a 
flash,  came  Peggy  from  the  wood,  this  very 
wood  she  was  walking  in  now,  and  ran,  and 
crept,  and  reached  out,  and  by  sheer  strength 
and  cleverness  saved  Rita  from  a  dreadful 
death,  while  she,  Margaret,  stood  helpless  by. 
Dear,  brave  Peggy  !  Ah,  dear  girls  both  !  How 


92  MARGARET    MOISTFORT. 

she  would    like    to    see    them   this   moment. 
Why!     Why,  what  was  that? 

Some  one  was  whistling  out  there  in  the 
open.  Whistling  a  lively,  rollicking  air,  with 
a  note  as  clear  and  strong  as  a  bird's.  Hor 
ror  !  The  workmen  must  have  come !  Mar 
garet  was  down  on  the  grass  in  an  instant, 
pulling  desperately  at  her  shoes  and  stock 
ings.  From  the  panic  she  was  in,  one  might 
have  thought  that  the  woods  were  full  of 
whistling  brigands,  all  rushing  in  her  direc 
tion,  with  murder  in  their  hearts.  She  could 
hardly  see ;  there  was  a  knot  in  her  shoe 
string;  why  did  she  ever  have  shoes  that 
tied  ?  Her  heart  was  beating,  the  blood 
throbbing  in  her  ears,  —  and  all  the  time 
the  whistling  went  on,  not  coming  nearer, 
but  trilling  away  in  perfect  cheerfulness, 
though  broken  now  and  then,  and  coming 
in  fits  and  starts.  At  last !  At  last  the 
shoes  were  tied,  and  Margaret  stood  up, 
still  panting  and  crimson,  but  feeling  that 
she  could  face  a  robber,  or  even  an  innocent 
workman,  without  being  disgraced  for  life. 
Cautiously  she  stole  to  the. edge  of  the  wood, 


A   NEW    TYPE.  93 

and  peeped  between  the  pine-boles.  The  sun 
lay  full  on  the  peat  bog,  and  it  shone  like  a 
great,  sunny  emerald,  friendly  and  smiling, 
with  no  hint  of  the  black  treachery  at  its 
heart.  No  hint?  But  look!  Out  in  the 
very  middle  of  the  bog  a  figure  was  stand 
ing,  balanced  on  a  tussock  of  firm  earth. 
A  light,  active  figure,  in  blue  jean  jumper 
and  overalls.  One  of  the  workmen,  who 
did  not  know  of  the  peril,  and  was  plung 
ing  to  his  destruction  ?  Margaret  opened  her 
lips  to  cry  aloud,  but  kept  silence,  for  the 
next  moment  she  comprehended  that  the 
young  man  (he  was  evidently  young,  though 
his  back  was  turned  to  her)  knew  well  enough 
what  he  was  about.  He  had  a  long  pole  in 
his  hand,  and  with  this  he  was  poking  and 
prodding  about  in  the  black  depths  beneath 
him.  Now  he  sounded  carefully  a  little  way 
ahead  of  him,  and  then,  placing  his  pole 
carefully  on  another  firm  spot,  leaped  to  it 
lightly.  The  black  bog  water  gurgled  up 
about  his  feet,  but  he  did  not  sink,  only 
planted  his  feet  more  firmly,  and  went  on 
with  his  sounding.  Now  he  was  singing. 


94  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

What  was  lie  singing  ?  What  a  quaint, 
funny  air ! 

"  A  wealthy  young  farmer  of  Plymouth,  we  hear, 
He  courted  a  nobleman's  daughter,  so  dear ; 
And  for  to  be  married  it  was  their  intent,  — 

Hi!  muskrat! — come  out  of  there!"  He 
almost  lost  his  balance,  and  Margaret 
screamed  a  very  small  scream,  that  could 
not  be  heard  a  dozen  yards.  Recovering 
himself,  tho  young  man  began  to  make  his 
way  towards  the  shore,  at  a  point  nearly 
opposite  to  where  Margaret  stood.  Spring 
ing  lightly  to  the  firm  ground,  he  took  off 
his  cap,  and  made  a  low  bow  to  the  bog, 
saying  at  the  same  time  something,  Mar 
garet  could  not  hear  what.  Then,  looking 
carefully  about  him,  the  young  workman 
appeared  to  be  selecting  a  spot  of  earth 
that  was  to  his  mind ;  having  done  so,  he 
sat  down,  took  out  a  note-book,  and  wrote 
with  ardour  for  several  minutes.  Then  he 
took  off  his  cap,  and  ran  his  fingers  through 
his  hair  —  which  was  very  curly,  and  bright 
red  —  till  it  stood  up  in  every  direction ;  then 


A   NEW   TYPE.  95 

he  turned  three  elaborate  somersaults ;  and 
then,  with  another  salute  to  the  bog,  and  a 
prolonged  whistle,  he  went  off,  leaping  on  his 
pole,  and  singing,  as  he  went : 

"  And  for  to  be  mar-ri-ed  it  was  their  intent ; 
All  friends  and  relations  had  given  their  consent." 


CHAPTER  VI. 
A  LESSON  IN  GEOGRAPHY. 

"  MARGARET  ! " 

"  Yes,  uncle." 

"  Can  you  come  here  a  moment,  my  dear  ?  " 

"Surely,  Uncle  John.  I  was  looking  for 
you,  and  could  not  find  you." 

Margaret  came  running  in  from  the  garden. 
Her  uncle  was  sitting  in  his  private  study, 
which  opened  directly  on  the  garden,  and 
communicated  by  a  staircase  in  the  wall  with 
his  bedroom.  The  study  was  a  pleasant  room, 
lined  with  books  for  the  most  part,  but  with 
some  valuable  pictures,  and  a  great  table  full 
of  drawers,  and  several  presses  or  secretaries, 
filled  with  papers  and- family  documents  of 
every  kind.  Mr.  John  Montfort,  recluse 
though  he  was,  was  the  head  of  a  large  and 
important  family  connection.  Few  of  his 
relatives  ever  saw  him,  but  most  of  them 


A   LESSON   IN    GEOGRAPHY.  97 

were  in  more  or  less  constant  correspondence 
with  him,  and  he  knew  all  their  secrets, 
though  not  one  of  them  could  boast  of  know 
ing  his.  He  was  the  friend  and  adviser,  the 
kindly  helper,  of  many  a  distant  cousin  who 
had  never  met  the  kind,  grave  glance  of  his 
brown  eyes.  Peggy  Montfort  used  to  say, 
in  the  days  when  it  had  pleased  him  to  ap 
pear  as  John  Strong,  the  gardener,  that  it 
"  smoothed  her  all  out,"  just  to  look  at  him ; 
and  many  people  experienced  the  same  feel 
ing  on  receiving  one  of  his  letters.  No  one 
had  it,  however,  so  strongly  as  Margaret  her 
self,  or  so  she  thought ;  and  it  was  with  a 
sensation  of  delightful  relief  that  she  answered 
his  call  this  morning.  Mr.  Montfort  turned 
round  from  the  great  table  at  which  he  was 
sitting,  and  held  out  his  hand  affectionately. 

"  Come  here,  my  child,"  he  said,  "  and  let 
me  look  at  you.  Look  me  straight  in  the 
eyes ;  yes,  that  will  do.  You  are  feeling  well, 
Margaret  ?  You  look  well,  I  must  say." 

"Well?  Of  course,  Uncle  John!  Am  I 
ever  anything  else  ?  I  have  never  had  a 
day's  illness  since  I  came  here." 


98  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

"  You  do  not  feel  the  load  of  responsibility 
too  much  for  your  young  shoulders  ? "  Mr. 
Montfort  went  on.  "  It  —  it  is  not  too  dull 
for  you  here,  alone  month  after  month  with 
an  elderly  man,  and  a  hermit,  and  one 
who  has  the  reputation  of  a  grim  and  un 
friendly  old  fellow  ?  What  do  you  say, 
Margaret  ?  " 

The  quick  tears  sprang  to  Margaret's  eyes. 
She  looked  up  at  her  uncle,  and  saw  in  his 
eyes  the  quizzical  twinkle  that  always  half 
puzzled  and  wholly  delighted  her.  "  Oh, 
uncle!"  she  cried;  "you  really  deceived  me 
this  time  !  I  might  have  known  you  were  in 
fun,  —  but  you  were  so  grave!" 

"Grave?"  said  Mr.  Montfort.  "Never 
more  so,  I  assure  you.  I  may  not  have  very 
serious  doubts,  in  my  own  mind  ;  neverthe 
less,  I  wani>  your  assurance.  Do  you,  Mar^ 
garet  Montfort,  find  life  a  burden  under 
existing  circumstances,  or  do  you  find  it — > 
well,  endurable  for  awhile  yet  ? " 

"  I  find  life  as  happy  as  I  can  imagine  it," 
said  Margaret,  simply ;  and  then,  being  abso 
lutely  truthful,  she  added,  "That  is, —  I  did 


A   LESSON    IN    GEOGRAPHY.  99 

find  it  so,  Uncle  John,  —  until  these  last  two 
weeks." 

"Precisely!"  said  Mr.  Montfort.  "Not  a 
word,  my  dear !  I  understand  you.  You  are 
fond  of  children,  I  think,  Margaret  ?  " 

"  Very  fond,"  said  Margaret,  thinking  that 
Uncle  John  was  strange  indeed  to-day. 

"  Get  on  well  with  them,  I  should  suppose. 
You  had  a  great  deal  of  influence  over  Peggy, 
Margaret." 

"  Dear,  good  Peggy  !  She  was  so  ready  to  be 
influenced,  Uncle  John.  She  was  just  wait 
ing  to  —  to  be  helped  on  a  little,  don't  you 
know?" 

"Yes;  so  Rita  thought,  if  I  remember 
aright!"  said  Mr.  Montfort,  dryly.  "But 
with  younger  children,  eh?  You  have  had 
some  experience  of  them,  perhaps,  Margaret  ? " 

Was  he  still  joking?  Margaret  had  not 
much  sense  of  humour,  and  she  was  sadly 
puzzled  again. 

"I  —  I  love  little  children,"  she  said. 
"Of  course  I  do,  Uncle  John!" 

"Little  children,  —  yes.  But  how  about 
boys  ?  Active,  noisy,  happy-go-lucky  boys  ? 


100  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

Boys  that  smash  windows,  and  yell,  and  tear 
their  clothes  on  barbed-wire  fences?  How 
about  those,  Margaret?" 

"  Is  that  the  kind  of  boy  you  were,  Uncle 
John  ?  "  asked  Margaret,  smiling.  "  Because 
if  so,  I  am  sure  I  shall  like  them  very  much." 

"Very  well,  my  dear  child!"  he  said. 
"  You  are  well  and  happy,  and  we  under 
stand  each  other,  and  that  is  all  right,  very 
right.  Now,  Margaret,  —  I  ask  this  for  form's 
sake  merely,  —  have  you  been  in  this  room 
before,  to-day  ?  " 

"  No,  Uncle  John,"  said  Margaret. 

"Of  course  you  have  not.  Knew  it  be 
fore  I  asked  you.  Do  you  notice  anything 
unusual  in  the  appearance  of  the  room,  my 
dear?" 

Margaret  looked  about  her,  wondering.  It 
produced  an  impression  of  —  well,  not  just  the 
perfect  order  in  which  it  was  generally  to  be 
found.  Several  drawers  were  half  open;  a 
sheaf  of  papers  lay  on  the  floor,  as  if 
dropped  by  a  startled  hand.  The  writing 
things  were  disarranged,  slightly,  yet  notice 
ably  ;  for  Mr.  Montfort  always  kept  them  in 


A   LESSON    IN    GEOGRAPHY.  101 

one  position,  which  was  never  changed  save 
when  they  were  in  actual  use. 

"  Why,  it  looks  —  as  if  —  as  if  you  had 
been  in  a  hurry,  Uncle  John,"  she  said  at  last. 

"  It  looks  as  if  some  one  had  been  in 
a  hurry,"  said  Mr.  Montfort,  significantly. 
"  I  have  not  been  in  this  room  before, 
to-day;  I  found  it  in  this  condition.  Never 
mind,  my  dear  !  I  am  going  to  write  a  letter 
now.  Don't  let  me  keep  you  any  longer." 

Margaret  went  away,  wondering  much ;  her 
uncle  joined  her  soon,  and  they  looked  at  the 
roses  together,  and  chatted  as  usual,  and  were 
happy,  till  Cousin  Sophronia  rapped  on  the 
window  with  her  thimble,  and  asl^ed  whether 
they  were  coming  in,  or  whether  she  should 
come  out  and  join  them. 

She  was  trying  that  evening,  Cousin  So 
phronia.  Nothing  on  the  tea-table  suited  her, 
to  begin  with.  She  declared  the  beef  tea 
unfit  to  touch,  and  desired  Mr.  Montfort  to 
taste  it,  which  he  politely  but  firmly  refused 
to  do.  "  But  it  is  not  fit  to  eat !  "  cried  the 
lady.  "  I  insist  on  your  tasting  it,  my  dear 
John." 


102  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

"  My  dear  Sophronia,  I  am  extremely  sorry 
it  is  not  to  your  taste.  If  it  is  not  good, 
I  certainly  do  not  want  to  taste  it.  Send  it 
away  and  ask  me  to  taste  something  that  is 
good." 

The  chicken  was  tough.  "  You  should 
change  your  butcher,  John.  Or  are  these 
your  own  fowls  ?  Chickens  I  will  not  call 
them  ;  they  must  be  two  years  old  at  least. 
Nothing  disagrees  with  me  like  tough  poultry. 
Nobody  to  look  after  the  fowls  properly,  I  sup 
pose.  I  must  take  them  in  hand  ;  not  that  I 
have  had  any  experience  myself  of  fowls,  but 
an  educated  person,  you  understand.  So  im 
portant,  I  always  say,  to  bring  educated  intel 
ligence  to  bear  on  these  matters.  And  then, 
these  knives  are  so  dull !  Even  if  the  fowls  were 
tender,  impossible  to  make  an  impression  with 
such  a  knife  as  this.  Elizabeth,  what  do  you 
use  for  your  knives  ?  " 

Elizabeth  used  Bristol  brick,  as  she  always 
had  done. 

"  Ah, entirely  out  of  date,  Bristol  brick.  You 
must  send  for  some  of  the  preparation  that 
William  uses,  John.  Nothing  like  it.  Some- 


A    LESSON    IN    GEOGRAPHY.  103 

thing  or  other,  it's  called;  somebody's  — I 
can't  remember  now,  but  we  will  have  it, 
never  fear,  dearest  John.  Shameful,  for 
you  to  be  subjected  to  dull  knives  and  tough 
poultry.  What  are  these  ?  Strawberries  ? 
Dear  me!  I  did  hope  we  could  have  rasp 
berries  this  evening.  One  is  so  tired  of  straw 
berries  by  this  time,  don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

"I  am  sorry,"  said  Mr.  Montfort.  "The 
raspberries  will  be  ripe  in  a  day  or  two, 
Sophronia ;  Willis  thought  they  would  hardly 
do  to  pick  to-day." 

"Oh,  but  I  assure  you,  my  dearest  John, 
Willis  is  entirely  wrong.  I  examined  the 
bushes  myself;  I  went  quite  through  them, 
and  found  them  quite  —  entirely  ripe.  That 
was  just  Willis's  laziness,  depend  upon  it. 
These  old  servants"  (Elizabeth  had  gone 
to  get  more  cream,  the  lady  having  emptied 
the  jug  on  her  despised  strawberries)  "are 
too  lazy  to  be  of  much  use.  Depend  upon 
it,  John,  you  will  know  no  peace  until  you 
get  rid  of  them  all,  and  start  afresh;  I  am 
thinking  very  seriously  about  it,  I  assure  you, 
my  dear  fellow.  Yes,  I  have  been  longing 


104  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

for  days  for  a  plate  of  raspberries  and  cream. 
I  have  so  little  appetite,  that  whenever  I  can 
tempt  it  a  little,  the  doctor  says,  I  must  not 
fail  to  do  so.  No  more,  dear,  thank  you  !  It 
is  of  no  consequence,  you  know,  really,  not 
the  least  in  the  world ;  only,  one  can  be  of  so 
much  more  use,  when  one  keeps  one's  health. 
Ah,  you  remember  what  health  I  had  as  a 
child,  John  !  You  remember  the  dear  old  days 
here,  when  we  were  children  together?" 

"  I  remember  them  very  well,  Sophronia," 
said  Mr.  Montfort,  steadily.  "  And  speaking 
of  that,  I  am  expecting  some  young  visitors 
here  in  a  day  or  two." 

Cousin  Sophronia  looked  up  with  a  jerk ; 
Margaret  looked  at  her  uncle  in  surprise; 
he  sipped  his  tea  tranquilly,  and  repeated  : 
"Some  young  visitors,  yes.  They  will  inter 
est  you,  Sophronia,  with  your  strong  family 
feeling." 

"Who  — who  are  they?"  asked  Miss  So 
phronia.  "  Most  ill-judged,  I  must  say,  to 
have  children  here  just  now ;  who  did  you 
say  they  were,  John  ? " 

"  Cousin   Anthony's   children.      They   lost 


A   LESSON    IN    GEOGRAPHY.  105 

their  mother  some  years  ago,  you  remember  ; 
I  fancy  Anthony  has  had  rather  a  hard  time 
with  them  since.  Now  he  has  to  go  out  West 
for  the  rest  of  the  summer,  and  I  have  asked 
them  to  come  here." 

For  once  Miss  Sophronia  was  speechless. 
After  a  moment's  silence,  Margaret  ventured 
to  say,  timidly,  "  How  old  are  the  children, 
Uncle  John?" 

"Really,  my  dear,  I  hardly  know.  Two 
boys  and  a  girl,  I  believe.  I  don't  even 
know  their  names ;  haven't  seen  their  father 
for  twenty  years.  Good  fellow,  Anthony ;  a 
little  absent-minded  and  heedless,  but  a  good 
fellow  always.  I  was  glad  to  be  able  to  oblige 
him." 

Miss  Sophronia  recovered  her  speech, 

"  Really,  my  dear  John,"  she  said,  with  an 
acrid  smile ;  "  I  had  no  idea  you  were  such 
a  philanthropist.  If  Fernley  is  to  become  an 
asylum  for  orphan  relations — " 

"  Sophronia  !  "  said  Mr.  Montfort. 

His  tone  was  quiet,  but  there  was  some 
thing  in  it  that  made  the  lady  redden,  and 
check  herself  instantly.  Margaret  wondered 


106  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

what  would  become  of  her,  if  her  uncle 
should  ever  speak  to  her  in  that  tone. 

"  I  am  sure  I  meant  nothing !  "  said  Miss 
Sophronia,  bridling  and  rallying  again.  "  I 
am  sure  there  was  no  allusion  to  our  dearest 
Margaret.  Absurd  !  But  these  children  are 
very  different.  Why,  Anthony  Montfort  is 
your  second  cousin,  John.  I  know  every 
shade  of  relationship ;  it  is  impossible  to 
deceive  me  in  such  matters,  John." 

"  I  should  not  attempt  it,  my  dear  cousin," 
said  Mr.  Montfort,  quietly.  "  Anthony  is 
my  second  cousin.  I  will  go  further  to  meet 
you,  and  admit  boldly  that  these  children  are 
my  second  cousins  once  removed,  and  Marga 
ret's  third  cousins.  Where  shall  we  put  them, 
Margaret  ?  " 

"  My  dearest  John,"  cried  Miss  Sophronia, 
in  her  gayest  tone,  "  you  are  not  to  give  it  a 
thought !  Is  he,  Margaret  ?  No,  my  dear 
fellow  !  It  is  noble  of  you  —  Quixotic,  I  must 
think,  but  undeniably  noble  —  to  take  in 
these  poor  little  waifs ;  but  you  shall  have  no 
further  thought  about  providing  for  them. 
Everything  shall  be  arranged ;  I  know  the 


A   LESSON    IN    GEOGRAPHY.  107 

house  from  garret  to  cellar,  remember.  I 
will  make  every  arrangement,,  dearest  John, 
depend  upon  me  !  " 

The  evenings  were  not  very  gay  at  Fernley 
just  now.  Miss  Sophronia  could  not  keep 
awake  while  any  one  else  read  aloud ;  so  she 
took  matters  into  her  own  hands,  and  read 
herself,  for  an  hour  by  the  clock.  Her  voice 
was  high  and  thin,  and  kept  Mr.  Montfort 
awake ;  she  was  apt  to  emphasise  the  wrong 
words,  which  made  Margaret's  soul  cry  out 
within  her;  and  she  stopped  every  few  min 
utes  to  chew  a  cardamom  seed  with  great 
deliberation.  This  simple  action  had  the  effect 
of  making  both  her  hearers  extremely  ner 
vous,  they  could  not  have  explained  why. 
Also,  she  was  afflicted  with  a  sniff,  which 
recurred  at  regular  intervals,  generally  in 
the  middle  of  a  sentence.  Altogether  the 
reading  was  a  chastened  pleasure  nowadays  ; 
and  this  particular  evening  it  was  certainly 
a  relief  when  she  declared,  before  the  hour 
was  quite  over,  that  she  was  hoarse,  and  must 
stop  before  the  end  of  the  chapter.  On  the 
whole,  she  thought  it  might  be  better  for  her 


108  MARGARET   MONTFORT. 

to  go  to  bed  early,  and  take  some  warm  drink. 
"It  would  never  do  for  me  to  be  laid  up, 
with  these  children  coming  to  be  seen  after  !  " 
she  declared.  So  she  departed,  and  Margaret 
and  her  uncle  sat  down  to  a  game  of  back 
gammon,  and  played  slowly  and  peacefully, 
lingering  over  their  moves  as  long  as  they 
pleased,  and  tasting  the  pleasure  of  having 
no  one  say  that  they  should  play  this  or  that, 
"  of  course !" 

The  game  over,  Mr.  Montfort  leaned  back 
in  his  chair,  with  an  air  of  content. 

•"  This  is  pleasant !"  he  said,  slowly.  "  Mar 
garet,  my  dear,  this  is  very  pleasant!" 
Margaret  smiled  at  him,  but  made  no  reply. 
None  was  needed :  the  uncle  and  niece  were  so 
much  alike  in  tastes  and  feelings,  that  they 
hardly  needed  speech,  sometimes,  to  know 
each  other's  thoughts.  Both  were  content  to 
sit  now  silent,  in  the  soft,  cheerful  candle-light, 
looking  about  on  the  books  and  pictures  that 
they  loved,  and  feeling  the  silence  like  a 
cordial. 

Suddenly  Mr.  Montfort's  air  of  cheerful 
meditation  changed.  He  sat  upright,  and 


A   LESSON    IN    GEOGRAPHY.  109 

leaned  slightly  forward.  He  seemed  to  listen 
for  something.  Then  suddenly,  softly,  he 
rose,  and  with  silent  step  crossed  the  room 
and  stood  a  moment  beside  the  wall.  It  was 
a  very  different  face  that  he  turned  to  Mar 
garet  the  next  instant. 

"  My  dear,"  he  said,  "  there  is  some  one  in 
my  study." 

"  In  your  study,  Uncle  John  ?  What  do  you 
mean  ?  That  is,  —  how  can  you  tell,  uncle  ?  " 

"  Come  here,  and  listen !  "  said  her  uncle. 
Margaret  stole  to  his  side,  and  listened,  her 
head,  like  his,  near  the  wall.  She  heard  the 
crackling  of  paper ;  the  sound  of  a  drawer 
pulled  softly  out ;  the  clank,  muffled,  but  un 
mistakable,  of  brass  handles.  What  did  it 
mean  ?  She  looked  to  her  uncle  for  explana 
tion.  He  shook  his  head  and  motioned  her 
to-be  silent.  Then,  taking  her  hand  in  his, 
he  led  her  softly  from  the  room.  Margaret 
followed,  greatly  wondering,  across  the  wide 
hall ;  through  the  low  door  that  led  to  the 
White  Rooms,  now  her  own ;  into  her  own 
sitting-room,  or  Aunt  Faith's  room,  as  she 
still  loved  to  call  it.  Here  Mr.  Montfort 


110  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

released  her  hand,  and  again  motioned  her  to 
be  silent. 

"  I  will  explain  by  and  by,  my  dear,"  he 
said.  "  Follow  me,  now,  and  learn  another 
lesson  in  Fernley  geography  ;  I  was  keeping 
it  for  a  surprise  some  day,  but  never  mind. 
Where  is  this  place  ?  " 

Margaret  noticed,  in  all  her  confusion  of 
surprise,  that  the  great  white  chair  was 
pushed  away  from  its  usual  place.  Her  uncle 
stepped  in  behind  the  table  near  which  it 
always  stood,  and  passed  his  hand  along  the 
smooth  white  panel  of  the  wall.  Noiselessly 
it  swung  open,  revealing  a  dark  space.  Mar 
garet  obeyed  his  gesture,  and  following,  found 
herself  in  a  narrow  passage,  carpeted  with 
felt,  on  which  her  feet  made  no  sound.  They 
went  forward  some  way ;  it  was  quite  dark, 
but  she  followed  her  uncle's  guidance,  and  he 
trod  as  surely  as  if  it  were  broad  daylight. 
Presently  he  stopped,  and,  with  a  pressure  of 
the  hand,  bade  her  listen  again.  The  rustling 
of  paper  sounded  very  clear  now ;  there 
was  another  rustle,  too,  the  rustle  of  silk. 
Suddenly,  light  flashed  upon  them ;  Margaret 


A   LESSON   IN    GEOGKAPHY.  Ill 

felt  herself  drawn  swiftly  forward  ;  there  was 
a  smothered  exclamation  in  her  uncle's  voice, 
followed  by  a  scream  from  another. 

They  were  standing  in  Mr.  Montfort's  study. 
The  room  was  lighted  by  a  single  candle,  that 
stood  on  the  writing-table ;  beside  this  table, 
backed  against  it  in  an  attitude  of  terror  and 
surprise,  stood  Miss  Sophronia  Montfort,  her 
hands  full  of  documents,  her  eyes  glaring. 
There  was  a  moment  of  silence,  and  Margaret 
counted  her  heart-beats.  Then  — 

"  Can  I  be  of  any  assistance  to  you,  my 
dear  Sophronia?  "  asked  Mr.  Montfort,  blandly. 
"  You  seem  in  distress ;  allow  me  to  relieve 
you  of  some  of  these."  He  took  the  papers 
quietly,  and  laid  them  on  the  table.  Miss 
Sophronia  gasped  once,  twice ;  opened  and 
shut  her  eyes  several  times,  and  swallowed 
convulsively ;  when  she  spoke,  it  was  with  a 
fluttering  voice,  but  in  something  like  her 
ordinary  tone. 

"  My  dear  John !  How  you  startled  me  ! 
A  —  a  —  little  surprise  for  you,  my  dear 
fellow.  Such  a  shocking  condition  as  your 
papers  were  in.  I  thought  —  a  kindness  — 


112  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

to  bring  a  little  order  out  of  chaos ;  he !  he  ! 
ahem  !  my  throat  is  troublesome  to-night.  A 
warm  drink !  Yes,  my  dear  John,  I  remem 
bered  the  old  passage,  you  see.  I  said,  why 
should  I  disturb  the  dear  fellow,  to  ask  him 
for  the  key  to  the  outer  door  ?  And  really, 
John,  these  papers  are  too  —  too  bad !" 

She  shook  her  head  in  a  manner  that  was 
meant  to  be  playful ;  but  suddenly  the  smile 
dropped  from  her  face  like  a  mask;  for  Mr. 
Montfort  did  a  singular  thing.  He  bent  his 
head  forward  slightly ;  fixed  his  eyes  on  his 
cousin  with  a  peculiar  expression,  and  advanced 
slowly,  one  step.  "  Sophronia  !  "  he  said. 

Miss  Sophronia  began  to  tremble. 

"  Don't,  John  !  "  she  cried.  "  John  Mont- 
fort,  don't  do  it !  I  am  your  own  cousin. 
Your  father  and  mine  were  brothers,  John.  I 
hope  I  know  my  duty  —  ah,  don't !  I  will 
not,  John  Montfort !  " 

Margaret  looked  from  one  to  the  other  in 
blank  amazement.  The  lady  seemed  in  the 
extremity  of  terror.  Her  uncle  —  was  this 
her  uncle  ?  Instead  of  the  grave,  dignified 
gentleman,  she  seemed  to  see  a  boy;  a  boy 


A   LESSON    IN    GEOGRAPHY.  113 

intent  on  mischief,  every  motion  of  him  alive 
with  power  and  malice.  Step  by  step  he 
advanced,  his  hands  clenched,  his  head  bent 
forward,  his  eyes  still  fixed,  bright  and  strong, 
on  his  cousin. 

"  Sophronia  !  "  he  said,  "  I  am  coming  ! 
Sophronia  !  Sophronia  !  Sophronia  !  "  Each 
time  he  quickened  voice  and  step.  He  was 
almost  upon  her ;  with  one  wild  shriek  Miss 
Sophronia  turned  and  fled.  Her  skirts  whisked 
along  the  secret  passage  •  they  heard  the  door 
bang.  She  was  gone. 

Mr.  Montfort  sat  down  in  his  study  chair 
and  laughed  long  and  silently. 

"  Don't  look  so  frightened,  my  dear  ! "  he 
said,  at  last.  "  It  was  a  scurvy  trick,  but  she 
deserved  it.  I  —  I  used  to  run  Sophronia  up 
stairs,  Margaret,  when  she  was  a  troublesome 
girl.  It  always  frightened  her.  I'd  have 
done  it  in  another  minute,  if  she  had  not  run, 
but  I  knew  she  would.  Poor  Sophronia  !  I 
suppose  something  of  the  boy  stays  in  us,  my 
dear,  as  long  as  we  live.  I  —  I  am  afraid  I 
should  rather  have  enjoyed  running  Sophronia 
up-stairs." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE    DAUNTLESS    THEEE. 

THE  next  morning  Miss  Sophronia  kept  her 
bed ;  her  cold,  she  said,  was  too  severe  to  ad 
mit  of  her  joining  the  family  at  breakfast. 
Margaret  waited  on  her  with  an  uneasy  sense 
of  guilt  in  general,  though  she  could  not  ac 
cuse  herself  of  any  special  sin.  She  did  her 
best  to  be  sympathetic  and  dutiful,  having 
been  brought  up  to  respect  her  elders  sin 
cerely.  But  she  was  puzzled  all  the  same, 
and  when  it  came  to  any  question  between 
her  cousin  and  her  uncle,  there  were  no  more 
doubts.  She  must  put  herself  out  of  the  way 
as  much  as  possible,  and  give  up,  wherever 
her  own  pleasure  was  concerned,  —  where  it 
was  any  matter  connected  with  Uncle  John, 
she  would  be  the  Rock  of  Gibraltar.  This 
being  settled,  the  Rock  of  Gibraltar  brought 
raspberries  for  Cousin  Sophronia' s  breakfast, 
and  made  her  room  bright  with  flowers,  and 

114 


THE    DAUNTLESS    THKEE.  115 

tried  to  make  cheer  for  her.  The  poor  lady 
was  rather  subdued,  and  told  Margaret  she 
was  a  cherub  child ;  then  declared  she  would 
not  be  a  burden  on  any  one,  and  sent  the  girl 
away  to  "  amuse  herself." 

"  Be  happy  as  a  butterfly,  my  dear,  all  the 
morning ;    don't   give  me   a   thought,  I    beg 
of  you.     If  Frances  would  have  a  new-laid 
egg   ready   for   me   at  eleven  —  positively  a 
new-laid  one,  Margaret !     Perhaps  you  would 
bring  it  yourself  from  the  hen-yard.     I  have 
no  confidence  in  servants,  and  it  would  make 
a  pleasant  little  trip  for  you.     So  important, 
I  always  say,  for  the  young  to  have  some 
thing    useful    to    mingle   with    their    sports. 
Boiled  three  minutes  and  a  half,  my  love  ! 
I  doubt  if  I  can  eat  it,  but  it  is  my  duty  to 
make  the  attempt.      Bless  you!     Good-bye! 
If  you  happen  to  have  nothing  to  do  about 
twelve,  you  might  bring  your  work  and  sit 
with  me.     I  am  the  most  sociable  creature  in 
the  world ;  I  cannot  endure  to  be  alone  when 
I  am  ill;  but  don't  have  me  on  your  mind, 
my  love,  for  a  single  instant." 

All  the  duties  attended  to,  Margaret  spent 


116  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

a  delightful  hour,  with  Elizabeth's  assistance, 
in   making    ready   the   rooms   for   the   new 
comers.     The  little  girl  was  to  have  Peggy's 
room,  next  her  own,  and  that  needed  nothing 
save  fresh  flowers  in  the  vases,  and  fresh  rib 
bons  on  the  curtains.     But  the  boys  were  to 
have  the  old  nursery,  the  great  room  that  ran 
across  the  whole  width  of  the  house,  on  the 
third   floor.      It  was   a  pleasant  room,  with 
dormer   windows    facing    east   and   south,   a 
great    fireplace,    with    a    high    wire    fender, 
and   a   huge    sofa,  covered  with   red   chintz 
dragons.      A  funny   sofa  it  was,  with  little 
drawers  let  in  along  the  sides.     John  Mont- 
fort  and  his  brothers  used  to  lie  on  this  sofa, 
when  they  had  the  measles   and  whooping- 
cough,   and    play    with    the    brass    drawer- 
handles,   and    keep    their    treasures    in    the 
drawers.      The   windows   were    barred,   and 
there  was  a  gate  across  the  landing,  at  the 
top  of  the  stairs.      Elizabeth  had  suggested 
taking  away  the  gate  and  the  bars,  "such 
big  young  gentlemen  as  these  would  be,  most 
likely,  sir  !  "  but  Mr.  Montfort  shook  his  head 
very  decidedly. 


THE   DAUNTLESS    THREE.  117 

"  If  they  are  Montfort  boys,  Elizabeth,  they 
will  need  all  the  bars  we  can  give  them. 
Master  Richard  was  twelve,  when  he  squeezed 
himself  between  these,  and  went  along  the 
gutter  hanging  by  his  hands,  till  he  came 
to  the  spout,  and  shinned  down  it.  Never 
make  things  too  easy  for  a  Montfort  boy !  " 

In  one  corner  stood  a  huge  rocking-horse, 
with  saddle  and  bridle  of  crimson  leather, 
rather  the  worse  for  wear.  He  was  blind 
of  one  eye,  and  his  tail  had  seen  service,  but 
he  was  a  fine  animal  for  all  that.  Margaret 
hunted  about  in  the  attic,  and  found  a  box  of- 
ninepins.  Marbles,  too  ;  Uncle  John  had  told 
her  that  there  must  be  marbles  somewhere,  in 
a  large  bag  of  flowered  purple  calico,  with  a 
red  string.  They  had  been  there  forty  years  ; 
they  must  be  there  still.  She  found  them  at 
last,  hanging  from  a  peg  of  one  of  the  great 
beams.  On  the  beam  close  by  was  written : 

"  This  is  my  Peg.  If  any  Pig  touches  my  Peg, 
that  Pig  will  be  Pegged.  Signed,  JOHN  MONTFORT." 

"  Oh,"  thought  Margaret,  "  what  a  pleasant 
boy  Uncle  John  must  have  been !  What  good 


118  MARGARET    MOKTFORT. 

times  we  should  have  had  together !  "  And 
then  she  reflected  that  he  could  not  possibly 
have  been  so  nice  a  boy  as  he  was  an  uncle, 
and  was  content. 

The  marbles,  and  the  rocking-horse,  and  — 
what  else  ought  there  to  be  ?  Tops  !  Uncle 
John  had  said  something  about  tops.  Here 
Margaret  screamed,  and  fled  to  the  attic  door. 
Something  was  moving  on  the  beam  by  which 
she  had  been  standing,  perched  on  a  chair. 
Something  rolled  slowly  along,  half  the  length 
of  the  beam,  and  dropped  to  the  floor  and 
rolled  towards  her.  Laughing  now,  Mar 
garet  stooped  and  picked  up  a  great  ball,  a 
leather  ball,  striped  red  and  black.  On  one 
of  the  red  stripes  was  written,  in  large,  un 
conventional  letters,  "Roger."  It  was  her 
father's  ball!  Margaret  held  the  toy  very 
tenderly  in  her  hands,  and  tried  to  see  the 
worn,  thoughtful  face  she  remembered  so 
well,  a  rosy  boy's  face,  full  of  light  and 
laughter.  She  had  seen,  yesterday,  strangely 
enough,  her  uncle's  boyish  looks,  revealed  in 
a  flash  of  mischief;  it  was  less  easy  to  see 
her  father's. 


THE    DAUNTLESS    THREE.  119 

As  she  stood  meditating,  the  sound  of 
wheels  was  heard  outside.  Margaret  ran 
to  look  out  of  the  little  gable  window,  then 
clapped  her  hands  together,  in  amazement 
and  pleasure.  The  children  had  come ! 

When  she  reached  the  verandah,  they  were 
already  standing  there,  facing  Mr.  Montfort, 
who  had  come  out  by  an  early  train,  and  was 
standing  looking  at  them  with  amused  atten 
tion,  holding  the  little  girl's  hands  in  his. 

"And  what  are  your  names,  my  dears?" 
he  was  saying. 

"  Basil,  Merton,  and  Susan  D.,"  replied  the 
elder  boy,  promptly,  while  three  pairs  of  sharp 
eyes  were  fastened  on  the  strange  uncle. 

"  Battle,  Murder,  and  Sudden  Death !  "  said 
Mr.  Montfort  under  his  breath.  He  had  no 
idea  that  any  one  could  hear  him,  but  a  shriek 
of  laughter  startled  him,  and  made  Margaret 
jump. 

"  That's  what  Puppa  calls  us  !  "  cried  Basil, 
springing  lightly  up  and  down  on  the  tips 
of  his  toes.  "  We  didn't  know  whether  you 
would  or  not ;  he  said  you  would  pretty  soon, 
anyhow.  How  do  you  do,  Uncle  John  ?  We 


120  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

are  very  well,  thank  you.  I  am  thirteen,  and 
Mert  is  twelve,  and  Susan  D.  is  ten.  Puppa 
hopes  we  shall  not  be  troublesome,  and  here 
are  the  keys  of  the  trunks." 

The  boy  drew  a  long  breath,  and  looked 
round  him  with  an  air  of  triumph. 

"Well,  I  should  think  you  would  know 
it!"  said  his  brother.  "Been  saying  it  all 
the  way  over  here." 

"More  than  you  could  do!"  retorted  his 
elder. 

"  Wouldn't  do  it  anyhow,  so  there  !  "  said 
the  younger. 

These  last  remarks  had  been  carried  on  in 
an  undertone,  the  set  speech  having  been 
delivered  slowly  and  with  much  dignity. 
Finally  each  boy  kicked  the  other's  shins 
surreptitiously,  and  then  both  stared  again 
at  their  uncle.  The  little  girl  had  never 
stirred,  but  stood  gazing  up  at  the  big  man 
who  held  her  hands  so  lightly  and  yet  so 
kindly,  and  who  had  such  bright,  deep,  quiet 
brown  eyes.  Margaret,  standing  in  the  door 
way,  scrutinised  the  three,  and  felt  a  sinking 
at  the  heart.  Basil  Montfort  was  a  tall  boy 


"THE    LITTLE    GIRL    HAD    NEVER    STIRRED,    BUT    STOOD    GAZING 
UP    AT    THE    BIG    MAN    WHO    HELD    HER    HANDS." 


THE    DAUNTLESS    THREE.  121 

for  his  age,  slender  and  wiry,  with  tow-coloured 
hair  that  stood  straight  on  end,  thin  lips  that 
curled  up  at  the  corners  with  a  suggestion  of 
malice,  and  piercing  gray  eyes,  which  he  had 
a  trick  of  screwing  up  till  they  were  like  gim 
let  points.  The  second,  Merton,  was  decidedly 
better-looking,  with  pretty  curly  hair,  and  blue 
eyes  with  an  appealing  look  in  them;  but 
Margaret  fancied  he  looked  a  little  sly;  and 
straightway  took  herself  to  task  for  the  un 
kind  fancy.  The  little  girl  was  Basil  over 
again,  save  that  the  tow-coloured  hair  was  put 
back  with  a  round  comb,  and  the  gray  eyes 
widely  opened,  instead  of  half  shut,  when  she 
looked  at  any  one.  All  three  children  were 
neatly  dressed,  and  all  looked  as  if  they  were 
not  used  to  their  clothes. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Montfort  at  last,  after  a 
long,  silent  look  at  each  one  in  turn,  "  I  am 
very  glad  to  see  you,  children.  I  hope  we 
are  going  to  be  good  friends.  Boys,  I  was 
a  boy  myself,  just  two  or  three  years  ago,  — 
or  it  may  be  four,  —  so  you  can  ask  me  about 
anything  you  want  to  know.  Susan,  I  never 
was  a  girl,  you  see,  but  that  need  not  make 


122  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

much  difference.  Your  Cousin  Margaret  — 
oh,  here  is  your  Cousin  Margaret !  She  will 
be  good  to  you,  and  —  and  in  short,  you  are 
all  very  welcome  to  Fernley,  and  there  is  a 
swing  in  the  garden,  and  the  rest  you  can 
find  out  for  yourselves." 

Margaret  came  forward,  and  shook  hands 
with  the  boys,  and  kissed  the  little  girl 
warmly.  Evidently  Susan  D.  was  not  used  to 
being  kissed,  for  she  blushed,  and  her  brothers 
giggled  rather  rudely,  till  they  caught  Mr. 
Montfort's  eye,  and  stopped. 

"  Young  gentlemen,"  said  Uncle  John,  with 
an  emphasis  which  brought  the  blood  to 
Basil's  cheek,  "dinner  will  be  ready"  —  he 
looked  at  his  watch  —  "in  an  hour.  I  dare 
say  they  would  like  something  now,  Mar 
garet  ;  crackers  and  cheese,  gingerbread,  — 
what?  You'll  find  them  something."  Mr. 
Montfort  nodded  kindly,  and  strode  away  to 
his  study.  Margaret  was  left  alone  with  the 
three  strange  children,  feeling  shyer  than 
ever  before  in  her  life.  The  meeting  with 
the  three  cousins  of  her  own  age,  two  years 
ago,  was  nothing  to  this. 


THE   DAUNTLESS    THREE.  123 

"Are  you  hungry,  boys?"  she  asked. 

"  Starving !  "  said  Merton. 

"He  isn't/'  said  Susan  D.  "He's  been 
eating  all  the  way,  ever  since  we  left  home. 
He's  a  greedy,  —  that's  what  he  is."  Then, 
scared  at  her  own  voice,  she  hung  her  head 
down,  and  put  her  finger  in  her  mouth. 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Margaret,  "  I  daresay  you 
would  all  be  hungry  before  dinner-time,  so 
suppose  we  come  into  the  pantry  and  see 
what  we  can  find.  Will  you  come  with  me, 
Susan,  dear?"  She  held  out  her  hand,  but 
the  little  girl  evaded  it,  and  followed  in  the 
rear,  holding  her  own  hands  behind  her  back. 

"Will  you  call  me  Cousin  Margaret?"  the 
girl  went  on.  "  And  shall  I  call  you  Susie, 
or  do  you  like  Susan  better  ?  " 

Susan  not  replying,  Basil  replied  for  her. 
"Susan  D.  we  call  her;  but  Puppa  calls  her 
Sudden  Death  when  she  acts  bad  ;  she  mostly 
does  act  bad." 

"  Don't  neither  !  "  muttered  Susan  D.,  scowl 
ing. 

"  Do  teither ! "  retorted  both  brothers  in  a 
breath. 


124  MARGARET   MONTFORT. 

"  She  ain't  shy  !  "  Basil  went  on.  "  She's 
sulky,  that's  all.  Merton's  shy,  and  I  ain't. 
I'll  tell  you  things,  when  you  ask  me ;  they 
won't,  half  the  time." 

"  Well,  I  haven't  asked  you  anything,  yet, 
have  I  ?  "  said  Margaret,  smiling,  and  feeling 
more  at  ease  with  this  boy,  somehow,  than 
with  either  of  the  others.  "What  can  you 
tell  me  that  is  pleasant  about  them  ?  " 

"  That's  so !  "  said  Basil,  and  his  lips  parted 
suddenly  in  a  smile  that  positively  trans 
figured  his  plain  face.  "Well,  Mert's  the 
best  boxer,  and  he  can  sing  and  draw.  I'm 
the  best  runner,  of  course,  'count  of  my  legs 
being  long,  you  see."  He  held  up  a  long, 
thin  leg  for  Margaret's  inspection.  "Some 
fellows  called  me  Spider  once,  and  Susan  D. 
scratched  their  faces  for  'em.  She's  great 
at  scratching,  Susan  D.  is." 

"  My  dear  !  "  said  poor  Margaret.  "  I 
thought  you  were  going  to  tell  me  the 
pleasant  things,  Basil." 

"  Ain't  I  ?  "  said  the  boy,  innocently.  "  She 
was  standing  up  for  me,  you  see.  She  always 
stands  up  for  me ;  Mert  is  a  sne —  well,  what 


THE    DAUNTLESS    THREE.  125 

I  was  going  to  say5  she's  a  pretty  good  runner, 
for  a  girl,  and  she  can  shin  a  rope  too,  better 
than  any  of  us.  Mert  can  hang  on  longest 
with  his  teeth." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  child  ? "  cried  Mar 
garet,  laughing.  Basil  flashed  his  brilliant 
smile  on  her  again. 

"  Tables,"  he  explained.  "  Yes,  please, 
crackers  ;  and  quite  a  lot  of  cheese,  please." 

"  Greedy  Gobble  !  "  interjected  Merton. 

"  Well,  I  like  that !  "  said  Basil.  "  Who 
ate  my  sandwich,  when  I  was  looking  out  of 
window  ?  I  tell  you  what,  I'd  punch  your 
head  for  two  cents,  young  feller  !  " 

"  Boys,"  said  Margaret,  decidedly,  "  I  can 
not  have  this  !  While  you  are  with  me,  I 
expect  you  to  behave  decently." 

"  Yes,  ma'am  !  "  said  both  boys,  with  ready 
cheerfulness ;  and  Basil  continued  his  ex 
planation. 

"  We  see  which  can  hang  on  to  a  table 
longest,  don't  you  know,  by  your  teeth.  Did 
ever  you  ?  " 

"  No,  I  certainly  never  did ;  and  —  I  don't 
think  you'd  better  try  it  here,  Basil.  It  must 


126  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

be  very  hard  on  your  teeth,  besides  ruining 
the  table." 

"It  ain't  healthy  for  the  table/'  Basil 
admitted.  "You  ought  to  see  the  tables  at 
home  !  It  makes  like  a  little  pattern  round 
the  edge,  sometimes.  Quite  pretty,  I  think. 
Say,  are  you  the  boss  here  ?  " 

Seated  on  the  pantry  dresser,  swinging  his 
legs,  the  young  gentleman  seemed  as  much  at 
home  as  if  he  had  spent  his  life  at  Fernley. 
The  two  other  children  were  eating  hastily 
and  furtively,  as  if  they  feared  each  bite 
might  be  their  last.  Basil  crunched  his 
crackers  and  nibbled  his  cheese  with  an  air 
of  perfect  unconcern.  "Are  you  the  boss 
here  ?  "  he  repeated. 

"  Am  I  in  authority,  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked 
Margaret,  who  could  not  abide  slang  of  any 
kind.  "  No,  indeed,  Basil.  Your  Uncle  John 
is  the  head  of  the  house,  in  every  possible 
way.  I  hope  you  are  all  going  to  be  very 
good  and  obedient.  He  is  the  kindest,  best 
man  in  the  whole  world." 

"  I  think  he's  bully,"  said  Basil.  "  I  guess 
you're  bully  too,  ain't  you  ?  And  it's  a  bully 


THE    DAUNTLESS    THREE.  127 

place.  Hi,  Mert,  there's  a  squirrel !  Look  at 
him  running  up  that  tree.  My  !  Wish  I  had 
a  pea-shooter !  " 

"  Bet  you  couldn't  hit  him  if  you  had !  " 
cried  Merton,  as  all  three  children  watched 
the  squirrel  with  breathless  interest. 

"  Bet  I  could  !  "  said  Basil,  contemptuously. 

"  Guess  he  could  hit  it  when  you  couldn't 
hit  a  barn  in  the  next  county !  "  cried  Susan 
D.  in  a  kind  of  small  shriek  ;  then  she  caught 
Margaret's  eye,  blushed  furiously,  and  tried 
to  get  behind  her  bread  and  butter. 

"  I  say  !  can  we  go  out  in  the  garden  ?  " 
cried  Basil. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  but  wouldn't  you  like  to 
come  up  and  see  your  rooms  first?  Such 
pleasant  rooms!  I  am  sure  you  will  like 
them." 

But  none  of  the  children  cared  to  see  the 
pleasant  rooms.  Receiving  permission  to  play 
till  they  heard  the  dinner-bell,  they  fled 
suddenly,  as  if  the  constable  were  at  their 
heels.  Margaret  saw  their  legs  twinkling 
across  the  grass-plot.  They  were  yelling  like 
red  Indians.  Susan  D.'s  hat  blew  off  at  the 


128  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

third  bound  ;  Basil  shied  his  cap  into  a  bush 
with  a  joyous  whoop,  then  snatched  off  his 
brother's  and  threw  that  after  it.  Merton 
grappled  him  with  a  shout,  and  they  rolled 
over  and  over  at  the  feet  of  their  sister,  who 
bent  down  and  pummelled  them  both  with 
might  and  main,  shrieking  with  excitement. 
As  Margaret  gazed  aghast,  preparing  to  fly 
and  interfere,  she  heard  a  quiet  laugh  behind 
her,  and  turning,  saw  Mr.  Montfort  looking 
over  her  shoulder. 

"  Battle,  Murder,  and  Sudden  Death !  "  he 
said.  "  Separate  them  ?  On  no  account,  my 
dear!  They  have  been  shut  up  for  hours, 
and  their  muscles  need  stretching.  Don't  be 
alarmed,  my  child  ;  I  know  this  kind."  Poor 
Margaret  sighed.  She  did  not  know  this 
kind. 


CHAPTEK   VIII. 

THE    FIRST    CONQUEST. 

WHEN  Margaret  went  to  bed  that  night, 
she  felt  as  if  she  had  been  whipped  with 
rods.  Head,  heart,  and  back,  all  ached  in 
sympathy.  The  children  were  in  bed;  that 
is,  she  had  left  them  in  bed  ;  their  staying 
there  was  another  matter ;  however,  all  three 
were  tired  after  their  journey,  and  Uncle  John 
thought  the  chances  were  that  they  would  fall 
asleep  before  they  had  time  to  think  of  doing 
anything  else.  Among  the  three,  the  little 
girl  was  the  one  who  oppressed  Margaret  with 
a  sense  of  defeat,  a  sense  of  her  own  incom 
petence.  She  had  not  expected  to  understand 
the  boys ;  she  had  never  had  any  experience 
of  boys  ;  but  she  had  expected  to  win  the  little 
girl  to  her,  and  make  her  a  little  friend, 
perhaps  almost  a  sister.  Susan  D.  received 
her  advances  with  an  elfish  coldness  that 

129 


130  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

had  something  not  human  in  it,  Margaret 
thought.  The  child  was  like  a  changeling, 
in  the  old  fairy  stories.  That  evening,  when 
bedtime  came,  Margaret  went  up  with  her 
to  the  pretty  room,  hoping  for  a  pleasant 
time.  She  sat  down  and  took  the  little  girl 
on  her  knee.  "  Let  us  have  a  cuddle,  dear  !  " 
she  said ;  "  put  your  head  down  on  my  shoul 
der,  and  I  will  sing  you  one  of  my  own 
bedtime  songs,  that  my  nurse  used  to  sing 
to  me." 

Susan  D.  sat  bold  upright,  not  a  yielding 
joint  in  all  her  body. 

"  Don't  you  like  songs  ?  "  asked  Margaret, 
stroking  the  tow-coloured  hair  gently. 

"  No  !  "  said  the  child  ;  and  with  the  word 
she  wriggled  off  Margaret's  lap,  and  stood 
twisting  her  fingers  awkwardly,  and  frowning 
at  the  floor.  Margaret  sighed. 

"  Then  we  will  undress  and  get  to  bed,"  she 
said,  trying  to  speak  lightly.  "  You  must  be 
very  tired,  little  girl.  Isn't  that  a  pretty  bed  ? 
Is  your  bed  at  home  like  this  ?  Tell  me  about 
your  room,  won't  you,  Susie  ?" 

But  Susan  D.  still  twisted  her  fingers  and 


THE    FIRST    CONQUEST.  131 

frowned,  and  would  not  say  a  single  word. 
She  made  no  resistance,  however,  when  Mar 
garet  helped  her  off  with  her  clothes.     "  You 
are  big  enough  to  undress  yourself,  of  course," 
the  girl  said,  "but  I  will  help  you  to-night, 
because   you   are    tired,    and    you    must  feel 
strange,   coming    so    far   away   from    home. 
Poor    little    mite!"     The    child    looked    so 
small   and    slight,    standing    with   her    dress 
off,    and    her    thin    shoulders    sticking    out 
like    wings,    that    Margaret    felt    a    sudden 
thrill    of    compassion,    and    stooping,    kissed 
the  freckled  cheek  warmly.     The  colour  came 
into  the  child's  face,  but  she  stood  like  a  stock, 
never  moving  a  muscle,  never  raising  her  eyes 
to  take  note  of  the  pretty,  tasteful  arrange 
ments   to  which    Margaret   had   given   such 
thought    and    pains.       But    the     undressing 
went  on,  and  presently  she  was  in  her  little 
nightgown,    with    her    hair    unbraided    and 
smoothly    brushed.      She    might    be    pretty, 
Margaret    decided,    when    she    filled    out    a 
little,  and  had  a  pleasanter  expression.     She 
was  so  little  !    Surely  there  must  be  one  more 
effort,  this  first  night. 


132  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

"  Shall  I  hear  you  say  your  prayers,  dear  ?  " 
asked  Margaret,  taking  the  child's  two  hands 
in  hers.  Susan  D.  shook  her  head  resolutely. 

"  No  ?  You  like  better  to  say  them  by  your 
self  ?  Then  I  will  come  back  in  a  few  minutes, 
and  tuck  you  up  in  your  little  nest." 

The  child  gave  no  sign  ;  and  when  Mar 
garet  came   back,   she   was   standing   in   the 
same  spot,  in   the   same  position.     She   got 
into  bed  obediently,  and  made  no  resistance 
when    Margaret    tucked    the    bedclothes    in, 
patted    her   shoulder,   and    gave   her   a   last 
good-night    kiss.     She   might    as   well   have 
kissed    the    pillow    for    any    response    there 
was,  but  at  least  there  had  been  no  shrink 
ing  this  time.     "  Good  night,  Susan  D.,"  said 
Margaret,   cheerfully,   pausing   at   the    door. 
"Good  night,  dear !     Susan,  I  think  you  must 
answer  when  you  are  spoken  to." 

"  Good  night !  "  said  Susan  D.  Margaret 
shut  the  door  softly  and  went  away.  As 
she  passed  along  the  corridor  that  ran 
round  the  hall,  something  struck  her  fore 
head  lightly.  She  looked  up,  and  narrowly 
escaped  getting  a  fish-hook  in  her  eye.  Mer- 


THE    FIRST    CONQUEST.  133 

ton  looked  over  the  banisters,  and  smiled  ap- 
pealingly.  "  I  was  fishing"  he  said.  "  There's 
fish-lines  in  the  drawers  of  the  sofa.  I  guess  I 
'most  caught  a  whale,  didn't  I  ?  " 

"  Merton,  you  must  go  to  bed  at  once !  "  said 
Margaret.  "  How  long  have  you  been  stand 
ing  there  in  your  nightgown  ?  You  might 
catch  your  death."  (It  had  been  one  of  old 
Katy's  maxims  that  if  you  stood  about  in 
your  nightgown  for  however  short  a  time, 
you  inevitably  got  your  death.  Margaret 
had  never  doubted  it  till  this  moment.)  "I 
am  coming  up  now  to  tuck  you  both  up  !  " 
she  added,  with  a  happy  inspiration. 

There  was  a  hasty  scuffle,  then  a  rush, 
accompanied  by  smothered  squeals.  When 
Margaret  reached  the  nursery,  both  boys 
were  in  bed.  Merton's  blue  eyes  were  wide 
open,  and  fixed  on  her  with  mournful  ear 
nestness  ;  Basil  was  asleep,  the  clothes  tucked 
in  well  under  his  chin.  He  lay  on  his  back, 
his  mouth  slightly  opened ;  he  was  snoring 
gently,  but  unobtrusively.  Poor  child !  no 
doubt  he  was  tired  enough.  But  how  had 
Merton  managed  to  make  so  much  noise  ? 


134  MAliGAliET   MONTFORT. 

Margaret  looked  around  her,  and  Merton's 
gaze  grew  more  intense.  His  own  clothes 
lay  in  a  heap  on  the  floor,  but  where  were 
his  brother's  ?  And  —  and  what  was  that, 
smoothly  folded  over  the  back  of  a  chair  ? 
A  clean  nightgown? 

But  when  Merton  saw  his  cousin's  eyes  fix 
on  the  nightgown,  he  exploded  in  a  bubbling 
laugh.  "He  —  he  ain't  undressed  at  all!" 
he  cried,  gleefully.  "  He  never !  he's  got  his 
boots  on,  and  every  single  — "  The  speech 
got  no  further.  There  was  a  flying  whirl  of 
blankets,  a  leap,  and  Basil  was  on  his  broth 
er's  chest,  pounding  him  with  right  good  will. 
"  You  sneak!"  he  cried.  I'll  teach  you  —  " 

There  was  no  time  to  think;  the  child 
would  be  killed  before  her  eyes.  Margaret 
took  a  firm  hold  on  Basil's  collar,  and  dragged 
him  off  by  main  strength,  he  still  clawing  the 
air.  Unconsciously,  she  gave  him  a  hearty 
shake  before  she  let  go;  the  boy  staggered 
back  a  few  paces;  who  would  have  thought 
that  Margaret  had  such  strength  in  her  slen 
der  wrists  ?  The  crisis  over,  she  panted,  and 
felt  faint  for  an  instant ;  Basil,  after  a  moment 


THE    FIRST    CONQUEST.  135 

of  bewilderment,  looked  at  her,  and  the  smile 
broke  all  over  his  face,  a  moment  before  black 
with  rage. 

"  Got  me  that  time,  didn't  you  ?  "  he  said, 
simply.  "  He's  a  mean  sneak,  Mert  is.  I'll 
serve  him  out  to-morrow,  don't  you  be 
afraid!  " 

"  Basil,  what  does  this  mean?"  asked 
Margaret,  severely.  "Why  are  you  not  in 
bed?"  Then  as  Basil  sent  an  eloquent  glance 
at  the  pillow  where  his  head  had  been  lying 
so  quietly,  she  added,  "Why  are  you  not 
undressed,  I  mean  ?  I  am  afraid  you  have 
been  very  naughty,  both  of  you,  boys." 

"  Well,  you  see,"  said  Basil,  apologetically, 
"  there  was  all  kinds  of  things  in  the  drawers, 
and  then  I  got  on  the  rocking-horse,  and  it 
wasn't  but  just  a  minute  before  you  came  up. 
I  say,  isn't  this  a  bully  room,  Cousin  Mar 
garet  ?  I  think  Uncle  John  was  awfully  good 
to  give  us  such  a  room  as  this.  Why  doesn't 
he  sleep  here  himself?  Bet  I  would,  if  I 
owned  the  house.  I  say,  do  those  marbles 
belong  to  him  ?  " 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  Margaret,  smiling  in 


136  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

spite  of  herself ;  "  yes,  I  am  sure  they  were 
his.  But  now,  Basil,  —  " 

"  Well,  see  here  !  "  cried  the  boy,  excitedly. 
"  Because,  you  see,  they're  worth  a  lot,  some 
of  'em.  Why,  there's  agates,  —  why,  they 
are  perfect  beauties !  Just  look !  "  He  ran 
towards  the  sofa,  but  Margaret  stopped  him 
resolutely. 

"  To-morrow,  Basil! "  she  said.  "  To-morrow 
you  shall  show  me  everything  you  like;  but 
now  you  must  go  to  bed,  this  very  moment. 
I  am  pretty  tired,  but  I  shall  sit  outside  on 
the  landing,  till  you  tell  me  that  you  are  in 
bed ;  then  I  shall  come  in  and  make  sure  for 
myself,  and  tuck  you  in." 

Basil  illuminated  the  room  again.  "Will 
you?"  he  cried.  "Honest,  will  you  tuck  us 
in?" 

Margaret  nodded,  wondering,  and  with 
drew  to  the  landing,  where  she  sat  with  her 
head  in  her  hands,  saying  to  herself,  "Let 
nothing  disturb  thee,  nothing  affright  thee — " 

Basil  spoke  through  the  keyhole.  "  Cousin 
Margaret ! " 

"  Yes,  Basil ;  are  you  ready  so  soon  ?  " 


THE    FIRST    CONQUEST.  137 

"  No,  not  quite.  I  wanted  to  say,  —  do  you 
think  you  ought  to  spank  me  ?  " 

"  No,  certainly  not,  my  dear !  " 

"  'Cause  you  can,  if  you  think  you'd  better." 

"  No,  no,  Basil ;  only  do  get  to  bed,  like  a 
good  boy !  " 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

A  sudden  plunge  was  heard,  a  thump,  and 
the  agonised  shriek  of  a  suffering  bedstead. 
"  Now  I'm  in  bed !  "  said  Basil.  Margaret 
picked  up  the  two  heaps  of  clothing,  and  laid 
them  neatly  on  two  chairs.  "  I  want  you  to 
do  this  yourselves  after  this,"  she  explained. 
"  It  isn't  nice  to  leave  your  things  on  the  floor." 

"  All  right !  "  «  We  will !  "  said  both  boys ; 
and  then  they  joined  in  a  fervent  appeal  to 
her  not  to  turn  their  knickerbockers  upside 
down.  "  'Cause  all  the  things  in  your  pockets 
spill  out,"  said  Merton. 

"And  then  you  get  'em  mixed,  and  can't 
tell  what  belongs  where, "  cried  Basil. 
"  Thank  you,  Cousin  Margaret ;  that's  bully  !  " 

Margaret  tucked  Merton  in  first ;  he  looked 
so  dimpled  and  pretty,  she  was  tempted  to 
offer  a  caress,  but  the  recollection  of  Susan  D. 


138  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

kept  her  from  it.  Turning  away,  she  came  to 
Basil's  bed.  The  boy  watched  her  intently  as 
she  smoothed  the  bedclothes  with  practised 
hand,  and  tucked  them  in  exactly  right,  not 
too  tight  and  not  too  loose.  There  are  several 
ways  of  tucking  a  person  into  bed.  With  a 
pleasant  "  Good  night ! "  she  was  about  to 
leave  him,  but  something  in  the  boy's  face 
held  her.  "  Is  there  anything  you  want,  my 
dear?"  she  asked,  gently.  Basil  looked  at 
her ;  then  turned  his  head  away.  "  Mother 
used  to  put  me  to  bed  !  "  he  muttered,  so  low 
that  Margaret  could  hardly  hear.  She  did 
hear,  however;  and  instantly  stooping  over 
the  boy,  she  kissed  him  warmly.  Thank 
Heaven,  here  was  one  who  did  want  to  be 
loved.  "Dear  Basil,"  she  said,  tenderly. 
"  Dear  boy,  you  shall  tell  me  all  about  her 
some  day.  Will  you?"  The  boy  nodded; 
his  eyes  were  eloquent,  but  he  did  not  speak. 
Her  heart  still  warm,  Margaret  looked  across 
at  Merton;  but  Basil  plucked  her  gown  and 
whispered,  "He — doesn't  know.  He  can't 
remember  her.  Perhaps  you  can  teach 
him  —  " 


THE    FIRST    CONQUEST.  139 

Margaret  nodded,  kissed  the  boy's  white 
forehead  once  more,  and  went  away  with  a 
lighter  heart  than  she  had  brought  with  her. 
On  the  floor  below  she  paused  to  listen  at 
Susan's  door;  all  was  quiet  there.  Cousin 
Sophronia  was  asleep,  too,  no  doubt ;  Margaret 
had  spent  part  of  the  evening  with  her,  read 
ing,  and  listening  to  her  doleful  prophecies  of 
the  miseries  entailed  by  the  coming  of  "  these 
dreadful  children  !  "  It  was  nearly  her  own 
bedtime,  too,  for  between  Cousin  Sophronia 
and  the  children  the  evening  had  slipped  away 
all  too  fast.  But  surely  she  might  have  a  few 
minutes  of  peace  and  joy  ?  The  library  door 
stood  open  ;  from  it  there  came  a  stream  of 
cheerful  light,  and  the  perfume  of  a  Manila 
cigar.  Oh,  good  !  Uncle  John  had  not  gone 
to  his  study ;  he  was  waiting  for  her.  As  she 
passed  Miss  Sophronia's  door,  Margaret  fan 
cied  she  heard  a  call ;  but  she  was  not  sure, 
and  for  once  she  was  rebellious.  She  flew 
down-stairs,  and  ran  into  the  library. 

The  pleasant  room  lay  in  shade,  save  for 
the  bright  gleam  of  the  reading-lamp.  Among 
the  books  which  lined  the  walls  from  floor  to 


140  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

ceiling,  the  gilded  backs  of  the  smaller  vol 
umes  caught  the  light  and  sent  it  back  in  soft, 
broken  twinklings  ;  but  the  great  brown  folios 
on  the  lower  shelves  were  half  lost  in  a  com 
fortable  duskiness.     The  crimson  curtains  were 
drawn  before  the  open  windows,  and  the  even 
ing  wind  waved  them  lightly  now  and  then, 
sending  new  shadows  to  chase  the  old  ones 
along  the  walls  and  ceiling.     The  thick  old 
Turkey  carpet  held  every  possible   shade   of 
soft,  faded  richness,  and  the  brown  leather 
armchairs  looked  as  if  they  had  been  sat  in  by 
generations  of  book-loving  Montforts,  as  in 
deed  they  had.     And  amid  all  this  sober  com 
fort,  by  the  great  library  table  with  its  orderly 
litter  of  magazines  and  new  books,  sat   Mr. 
John  Montfort,  book  in  hand  and  cigar  in 
mouth,  a  breathing  statue  of  Ease,  in  a  brown 
velvet  smoking-jacket.     He  looked  up,  and, 
seeing  Margaret  in  the  doorway,  laid  down 
his  book,  and 'held  out  his  hand  with  a  ges 
ture  of  welcome.      "  Well,  my  girl,"  he  said, 
"  come  and  tell  me  all  about  it !  " 

With   a   great    sigh    of    relief,    Margaret 
dropped  on  the  rug  at  her  uncle's  feet,  and 


THE    FIRST    CONQUEST.  141 

laid  her  tired  head  on  his  knee.  "Uncle 
John  !  "  she  said.  «  Oh,  Uncle  John  !  "  That 
seemed  to  be  all  she  wanted  to  say ;  she  shut 
her  eyes,  and  gave  herself  up  to  the  comfort 
which  only  comes  with  rest  after  fatigue. 

Mr.  Montfort  stroked  her  hair  gently,  with 
a  touch  as  light  as  a  woman's.  Then  he  took 
up  his  book  again,  and  began  to  read  aloud. 
It  was  a  curious  old  book,  bound  in  black 
leather,  with  great  silver  clasps. 

"  In  that  isle  is  a  dead  sea  or  lake,  that  has  no 
bottom ;  and  if  any  thing  falls  into  it,  it  will  never 
come  up  again.  In  that  lake  grow  reeds,  which 
they  call  Thaby,  that  are  thirty  fathoms  long;  and 
of  these  reeds  they  make  fair  houses.  And  there 
are  other  reeds,  not  so  long,  that  grow  near  the  land, 
and  have  roots  full  a  quarter  of  a  furlong  long  or 
more,  at  the  knots  of  which  roots  precious  stones 
are  found  that  have  great  virtues ;  for  he  who  carries 
any  of  them  upon  him  may  not  be  hurt  by  iron  or 
steel;  and  therefore  they  who  have  those  stones  on 
them  fight  very  boldly  both  by  sea  and  land;  and 
therefore,  when  their  enemies  are  aware  of  this,  they 
shoot  at  them  darts  without  iron  or1  steel,  and  so  hurt 
and  slay  them.  And  also  of  those  reeds  they  make 
houses  and  ships  and  other  things,  as  we  here  make 


142  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

houses  and  ships  of  oak,  or  of  any  other  tree.  And 
let  no  man  think  I  am  joking,  for  I  have  seen  these 
reeds  with  my  own  eyes." 

The  words  flowed  on  and  on ;  Margaret  felt 
her  troubles  smoothing  themselves  out,  melt 
ing  away.  "  Who  is  this  pleasant  person  ?  " 
she  asked,  without  raising  her  head. 

"Sir  John  Mandeville,"  said  her  uncle. 
"  Rest  a  bit  still,  and  we'll  go  and  see  the 
Chan  of  Cathay  with  him.  Here  we  are  ! " 
He  turned  a  page  or  two,  and  read  again  : 

"The  emperor  has  his  table  alone  by  himself, 
which  is  of  gold  and  precious  stones  ;  or  of  crystal, 
bordered  with  gold  and  full  of  precious  stones;  or 
of  amethysts,  or  of  lignum  aloes,  that  comes  out  of 
Paradise ;  or  of  ivory  bound  or  bordered  with  gold. 
And  under  the  emperor's  table  sit  four  clerks,  who 
write  all  that  the  emperor  says,  be  it  good  or  evil ; 
for  all  that  he  says  must  be  held  good ;  for  he  may 
not  change  his  word  nor  revoke  it." 

"Oh,  but  I  shouldn't  like  that,  Uncle 
John !  "  cried  Margaret.  "  I  shouldn't  like 
that  at  all!  Should  you?" 

"  I  don't  think  it  would  be  agreeable/'  Mr. 


THE    FIRST    CONQUEST.  143 

Montfort  admitted.  "  But  when  we  come  to 
anything  we  don't  like,  we  can  suppose  that 
Sir  John  was  —  shall  we  call  it  embroidering  ? 
And  how  does  my  girl  feel  now  ?  Are  the 
wrinkles  smoothing  out  at  all  ?  " 

"All  smooth!"  replied  the  girl.  "All 
gone,  Uncle  John.  I  was  only  a  little  tired ; 
and  —  Uncle  John  —  " 

"  Yes,  dear  child." 

"  You  must  expect  that  I  shall  do  a  great 
many  wrong  things,  at  first.  I  am  very  igno 
rant,  and  —  well,  not  very  old,  perhaps.  If 
only  I  can  make  the  children  love  me  !  " 

"  They'd  better  love  you,"  said  Uncle  John. 
"  If  they  don't,  they'll  get  the  stick.  But  don't 
fret,  Margaret ;  I  am  not  going  to  fret,  and  I 
shall  not  let  you  do  it.  The  little  girl  seems 
slightly  abnormal,  at  first  sight;  but  the 
boys  —  " 

"  Yes,  Uncle  John  ?  "  and  Margaret  raised 
her  head  and  looked  eagerly  at  her  uncle, 
hoping  for  some  light  that  would  make  all 
clear  to  her.  "The  boys?" 

"  Why,  the  boys  are  just  boys,  my  dear ; 
nothing  in  the  world  but  plain  boys.  Two  of 


144  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

'em  instead  of  four,  —  thank  your  stars  that 
you  are  in  this  generation  instead  of  the  last, 
my  love  ;  and  now  take  this  little  head  off  to 
bed,  and  don't  let  another  anxious  thought 
come  into  it.  Good  night,  my  child." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A   NEWCOMER. 

"!F  you  please,  Miss  Margaret,  the  lady 
would  like  to  speak  to  you,  in  her  room." 

"  Miss  Montfort  ?  "  (Elizabeth  never  would 
call  Miss  Sophronia  Miss  Montfort.)  "  Yes, 
Elizabeth,  I  will  be  up  in  a  moment ;  tell  her, 
please." 

Hastily  pinning  her  collar,  —  it  was  near 
breakfast-time,  and  she  had  been  longer  than 
usual  in  dressing,  —  Margaret  ran  up  to  the 
Blue  Room.  Miss  Sophronia,  in  curl-papers 
and  a  long,  yellow  wrapper,  was  standing  near 
the  window,  apparently  rigid  with  horror. 

"What  is  it,  Cousin  Sophronia?  What 
can  I  do  for  you  ? " 

"  Margaret,  I  told  you,  —  I  warned  you.  I 
warned  John  Montfort.  No  one  can  say 
that  I  neglected  my  duty  in  this  respect; 
my  conscience  is  clear.  Now  look,  —  I  desire 

145 


146  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

you,  look  out  of  that  window,  and  tell  me 
what  you  think." 

Margaret  looked.  At  first  she  saw  nothing 
but  the  clear  glass,  and,  beyond  it,  the  blue 
sky  and  waving  trees.  But,  looking  again, 
she  became  aware  of  two  objects  dangling 
over  the  upper  part  of  the  pane ;  a  black 
object,  and  a  white  object;  two. small  legs, 
one  bare,  the  other  in  stocking  and  shoe. 
The  legs  were  swinging  back  and  forth, 
keeping  time  to  a  clear  and  lively  whistle, 
and  now  and  then  one  of  them  gave  a  little 
kick,  as  of  pure  content. 

"  Do  you  see  ?  "  demanded  Miss  Sophronia, 
in  tragic  tone. 

"  Yes,  Cousin  Sophronia,  I  see.  I  can't 
think  —  but  I'll  run  up  at  once  and  see  what 
it  means,  and  bring  the  child  down.  I  — " 
Margaret  waited  to  say  no  more,  but  flew 
up-stairs,  only  pausing  to  cast  a  hasty  glance 
into  Susan  D.'s  room,  the  door  of  which 
stood  open.  The  room  was  empty ;  so,  when 
she  reached  the  top  of  the  stairs,  was  the 
nursery.  She  entered  a  small  room  that 
was  used  as  a  storeroom ;  its  one  window 


A   NEWCOMER.  147 

looked  directly  on  the  roof,  and  this  win 
dow  stood  wide  open.  Running  to  look  out, 
Margaret  saw  Susan  D.,  seated  astride  of  a 
gable,  dangling  her  legs  as  aforesaid,  and 
apparently  enjoying  herself  immensely.  The 
whistle  stopped  when  she  saw  her  cousin,  and 
the  cheerful  look  gave  place  to  one  of  sul- 
lenness. 

"  Susan,  my  dear  child,  what  are  you  doing 
here  ?  " 

"Looking  for  my  other  stocking,"  replied 
the  child. 

"  Your  stocking  ?  " 

"Yes.  I  dropped  it  out  of  the  window, 
and  I  came  up  here  to  look  for  it." 

"She  thought  she  could  see  better!"  ex 
plained  Basil,  appearing  suddenly  from  be 
hind  the  chimney.  "I  —  good  morning, 
Cousin  Margaret.  I  slept  very  well,  thank 
you." 

"So  did  I!"  chimed  in  Susan  D.,  with 
suspicious  readiness.  "I  slept  very  well. 
Good  morning,  Cousin  Margaret,  thank 
you!" 

"That    isn't    right,"    said   Basil,   as   Mar- 


148  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

garet  looked  in  bewilderment  from  one  to 
the  other ;  "  you  are  such  a  stupid,  Susan  D. 
You  see,"  he  added,  turning  to  Margaret, 
"I've  been  telling  her  that  she's  got  to 
have  better  manners,  and  speak  when  she's 
spoken  to;  and,  if  she  behaves  pretty  well, 
she's  going  to  get  some  hard  stamps  she 
wants;  and  if  she  doesn't  — " 

"I  am,"  said  Susan  D.  "Amn't  I,  Cousin 
Margaret  ?  " 

It  was  the  first  time  the  child  had  ad 
dressed  Margaret  directly,  and  the  latter 
hastened  to  assure  her  that  her  morning 
greeting  would  do  very  well  indeed.  "  But, 
dear  children,"  she  cried,  "  I  cannot  let  you 
stay  here.  Indeed,  you  ought  never  to  have 
come  up ;  I  don't  believe  Uncle  John  would 
like  to  have  you  on  the  roof  at  all;  and 
it  is  breakfast-time,  and  Cousin  Sophronia 
has  been  a  good  deal  frightened,  Susie,  at 
seeing  your  legs  dangling  over  her  window 
in  this  fashion." 

"  We  aren't  hurting  the  old  roof !  "  cried 
boy  and  girl,  in  eager  self-defence. 

"Oh,   my    dears!     It    isn't   the    roof,   it's 


A   NEWCOMER.  149 

your  precious  necks,  that  you  might  be 
breaking  at  this  moment.  How  are  you 
going  to  get  back  ?  Basil,  it  makes  me 
dizzy  to  look  at  you." 

"  Then  I  wouldn't  look/'  said  Basil,  cheer 
fully.  "I'm  all  right,  Cousin  Margaret,  just 
truly  I  am.  Why,  I  just  live  on  roofs,  every 
chance  I  get.  And  this  is  a  bully  roof  to 
climb  on." 

Margaret  covered  her  eyes  with  her  hands, 
as  the  boy  came  tripping  along  the  ridge-pole 
towards  her ;  but  the  next  moment  she  put 
the  hands  down  resolutely.  "  Let  me  help 
you ! "  she  said.  "  Susan,  take  my  hand, 
dear,  and  let  me  help  you  in." 

But  Susan  D.  needed  no  helping  hand ;  she 
scrambled  up  the  slope  of  the  roof  like  a 
squirrel,  and  wriggled  in  at  the  window 
before  Margaret  could  lay  hands  on  her. 
"  I'm  all  right !  "  she  said,  shyly.  "  I  didn't 
find  my  stocking,  though.  I'll  get  another 
pair."  But  Margaret  soon  found  the  stock 
ing,  and  in  due  time  could  report  to  Cousin 
Sophronia  that  the  children  were  both  safe 
on  the  ground,  and  more  or  less  ready  for 


150  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

breakfast.  Merton  had  not  shared  in  the  roof 
expedition ;  he  had  climbed  the  great  chest 
nut-tree  instead,  and  appeared  at  breakfast 
with  most  of  the  buttons  off  his  jacket,  and 
a  large  barn-door  tear  in  his  knickerbockers. 

Miss  Sophronia  greeted  the  children  with 
firmness.  "  How  do  you  do,  my  dears  ?  "  she 
said.  "  I  am  your  Cousin  Sophronia,  and  I 
shall  take  the  place  of  a  mamma  to  you  while 
you  are  here.  If  you  do  as  I  tell  you,  we  shall 
get  on  very  well,  I  dare  say.  You  are  Basil  ? 
Yes,  you  look  like  your  Uncle  Reuben.  You 
remember  Reuben,  John?  What  a  trouble 
some  boy  he  was,  to  be  sure  !  And  this  is 
Merton.  H'm !  Yes !  The  image  of  his 
father.  Anthony ;  to  be  sure !  And  what 
is  your  name,  child?  Susan  D.  ?  Ah,  yes! 
For  your  Aunt  Susan,  of  course.  And  are 
you  a  good  girl,  Susan  D.  ? " 

Susan  D.  hung  her  head,  and  looked 
defiant. 

"  Always  answer  when  you  are  spoken  to," 
said  the  lady,  with  mild  severity.  "  I'm  afraid 
your  father  has  let  you  run  wild,  but  we  will 
alter  all  that.  Little  boy  —  Merton,  I  mean, 


A   NEWCOMER.  151 

you  are  taking  too  much  sugar  on  your  por 
ridge.  Too  much  sugar  is  very  bad  for  chil 
dren.  Hand  me  the  bowl,  if  you  please. 
I  am  obliged  to  take  a  good  deal  of  sugar  — 
the  doctor's  orders  !  There  are  one  —  two 
—  three  buttons  off  your  jacket.  This  will 
never  do  !  " 

"  I  scraped  'em  off,  shinning  up  the  tree/' 
said  Merton,  sadly.  "  I  barked  all  my  shins, 
too  ;  but  I  found  the  squirrel's  nest." 

"  Oh,  Merton,  you  didn't  meddle  with  it  ?  " 
cried  Margaret.  "That  little  squirrel  is  so 
tame,  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  have  him 
teased.  You  didn't  tease  him,  did  you, 
dear?" 

Merton  looked  injured.  "I  just  put  my 
hand  into  his  old  hole,  and  he  bit  me,  nasty 
thing !  I'll  kill  him,  first  chance  I  get." 

"You  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  said 
Mr.  Montfort,  quietly.  "  You  will  let  the 
squirrel  alone,  Merton,  or  I  shall  have  to 
stop  the  climbing  altogether.  You  under 
stand?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Merton.  "  Ow !  you  stop 
that,  now !  " 


152  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

"  Did  you  speak  to  me,  sir  ?  "  inquired  Mr. 
Montfort,  politely. 

"Well,  he  kicked  my  sore  shin/'  growled 
Merton,  glaring  savagely  at  Basil.  Basil 
chuckled  gleefully.  Mr.  Montfort  looked 
from  one  to  the  other. 

"  Kick  each  other  as  much  as  you  like  out- 
of-doors/'  he  said.  "Here,  you  can  either 
behave  yourselves  or  leave  the  table.  Take 
your  choice."  He  spoke  very  quietly,  and 
went  on  with  his  letter,  without  another 
glance  at  the  boys  ;  indeed,  no  second  glance 
was  needed,  for  the  children  behaved  remark 
ably  well  through  the  rest  of  breakfast. 

That  morning  was  a  trying  time  for  Mar 
garet.  She  tried  hard  to  remember  her 
uncle's  parting  words,  as  he  drove  away : 
"  Let  them  run,  these  first  few  days,  and 
don't  worry ;  above  all,  don't  worry !  " 

Yes,  but  how  could  she  help  worrying  ?  If 
it  had  been  only  running  !  But  these  children 
never  seemed  content  to  stay  on  their  feet  for 
ten  minutes  together.  Now  they  were  turn 
ing  somersaults  round  and  round  the  grass- 
plot,  till  her  head  grew  dizzy,  and  Cousin 


MERTON    WAS    TEASING    CHIQUITO." 


A   NEWCOMER.  153 

Sophronia  screamed  from  the  window  that 
they  would  all  be  dead  of  apoplexy  in  less 
than  ten  minutes.  Now  they  were  hanging 
by  their  heels  from  the  lower  branches  of  the 
horse-chestnut  tree,  daring  each  other  to  turn 
a  somersault  in  the  air  and  so  descend.  Now 
Merton  was  teasing  Chiquito,  and  getting  his 
finger  bitten,  and  howling,  while  Basil  jeered 
at  him,  and  wanted  to  know  whether  a  sixty- 
year-old  bird  was  likely  to  stand  "  sauce " 
from  a  ten-year-old  monkey.  Now  Susan  D. 
had  caught  her  frock  on  a  bramble,  and  torn 
a  long,  jagged  rent  across  the  front  breadth, 
that  filled  Margaret  with  despair.  Poor 
Susan  D. !  By  afternoon,  Miss  Sophronia 
had  taken  her  into  custody,  and  marched 
her  off  to  her  own  room,  to  stay  there  till 
bedtime. 

"The  child  was  rebellious,  my  dear  Mar 
garet  ;  positively  disrespectful.  A  little  disci 
pline,  my  love,  is  what  that  child  needs.  It  is 
my  duty  to  give  it  to  her,  and  I  shall  do  my 
duty  cheerfully.  At  your  age,  it  is  not  to  be  ex 
pected  that  you  should  know  anything  about 
children.  Leave  all  to  me,  and  you  will  be 


154  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

surprised  at  the  result.     A  firm  rein  for  a  few 
weeks,  —  I  shall  manage  her,  never  fear !  " 

Margaret  was  humble-minded,  and  fully 
conscious  of  her  total  lack  of  experience  ;  still, 
she  could  not  feel  that  a  system  of  repres 
sion  was  the  one  most  likely  to  succeed  with 
Susan  D. 

"If  we  could  win  the  child's  affection,"  she 
began,  timidly.  Miss  Sophronia  pounced  upon 
her. 

"  My  love,  you  naturally  think  so  !  Believe 
me,  I  know  what  I  am  talking  about.  I  have 
practically  brought  up  William's  children ; 
the  result  is  astonishing,  everybody  says 
so."  (Everybody  did,  but  their  astonishment 
was  hardly  what  the  good  lady  fancied  it.) 
"Trust,  —  dearest  Margaret,  simply  confide 
absolutely  in  me  !  So  important,  I  always 
say,  for  the  young  to  have  entire  confidence 
in  their  elders." 

Margaret  was  thankful  when  dinner  was 
over,  and  her  cousin  gone  to  take  her  after 
noon  nap.  Basil  was  in  a  lowering  mood, 
the  result  of  his  sister's  imprisonment.  He 
would  do  nothing  but  rage  against  Cousin 


A   NEWCOMER.  155 

Sophronia,  so  Margaret  was  finally  obliged  to 
send  him  away,  and  sit  down  with  a  sigh 
to  her  work,  alone. 

It  was  very  pleasant  and  peaceful  on  the 
verandah.  The  garden  was  hot  and  sunny  at 
this  hour,  but  here  the  shade  lay  cool  and 
grateful,  and  Margaret  felt  the  silence  like 
balm  on  her  fretted  spirit.  It  was  all  wrong 
that  she  should  be  so  fretted ;  she  argued  with 
herself,  scolded,  tried  to  bring  herself  to  a 
better  frame  of  mind ;  but  nature  was  too 
strong  for  her,  and  the  best  she  could  do  was 
to  resolve  that  she  would  try,  and  keep  on  try 
ing,  her  very  best ;  and  that  Uncle  John 
should  not  know  how  worried  she  was.  That, 
surely,  she  could  manage :  to  keep  a  smiling 
face  when  he  was  at  home,  and  to  made  light 
of  all  these  hourly  pin-pricks  that  seemed  to 
her  sensitive  nature  like  sword-thrusts, 

So  quiet !  Only  the  sound  of  the  soft  wind 
in  the  great  chestnut-trees,  and  the  clear  notes 
of  a  bird  in  the  upper  branches.  A  rose- 
breasted  grosbeak!  Her  uncle  had  been 
teaching  her  something  about  birds,  and  she 
knew  this  beautiful  creature,  and  loved  to 


156  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

watch  him  as  he  hovered  about  the  nest 
where  his  good  wife  sat.  His  song  was 
almost  like  the  oriole's,  Margaret  thought. 
She  laid  down  her  embroidery,  and  watched 
the  flashes  of  crimson  appear  and  disappear. 
What  a  wonderful,  beautiful  thing !  How 
good  to  live  in  the  green  country,  where 
lovely  sights  and  sounds  were  one's  own,  all 
day  long.  Why  should  one  let  oneself  be 
distressed,  even  if  things  did  not  go  just  to 
one's  mind  ? 

A  soft  cloud  seemed  to  be  stealing  over  her 
spirit ;  it  was  not  sleep,  but  just  a  waking 
dream,  of  peace  and  beauty,  and  the  love  of 
all  lovely  things  in  the  green  and  blossoming 
world,  where  life  floated  by  to  the  music  of 
birds,  — 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Margaret ;  were 
you  asleep,  miss  ? " 

Margaret  sat  upright,  and  looked  a  little 
severe.  It  would  never  do  even  to  look  as  if 
she  had  been  asleep,  in  the  middle  of  the  after 
noon.  "  No,  Elizabeth,"  she  said.  "  What  is 
wanted  ?  " 

"  Only  miss,  Frances  was  wishful  to  know 


A   NEWCOMER.  157 

whether  she  should  keep  Master  Merton's  din 
ner  any  longer,  or  whether  she'd  cook  some 
thing  fresh  for  him  along  with  his  supper." 

No  more  dreaming  for  Margaret !  She 
sprang  to  her  feet,  suddenly  conscious  of  the 
fact  that  Merton  had  not  been  seen  for  several 
hours.  It  could  not  have  been  more  than 
eleven  o'clock  when  he  was  in  her  room ; 
now  —  "  What  time  is  it,  Elizabeth  ?  " 

"  Going  on  five,  Miss  Margaret.  Mr.  Mont- 
fort'll  soon  be  here,  miss ;  maybe  Master 
Merton  might  have  gone  to  meet  him." 

Margaret  shook  her  head;  that  did  not 
seem  at  all  likely.  She  hailed  Basil,  who 
came  sauntering  up  the  gravel  walk,  his 
brow  still  clouded,  kicking  the  pebbles  before 
him. 

"  Oh,  Basil,  have  you  seen  Merton  ?  He 
has  not  been  in  the  house  since  this  morning, 
and  I  am  anxious  about  him." 

Basil  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Eun  away, 
most  likely!"  he  said,  carelessly.  "He's 
always  running  away,  Mert  is." 

"  Always  running  away !  But  where  could 
he  run  to,  Basil  ?  He  does  not  know  his  way 


158  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

about  here.  He  surely  would  not  run  away 
in  a  strange  place." 

Basil  smiled  superior.  "That's  just  why 
he'd  do  it.  He  likes  to  find  out  new  places ; 
we  both  do.  I  wouldn't  leave  Susan  D.,  or 
I'd  have  gone,  too,  bet  I  would.  No  use 
staying  here,  to  be  bossed  round." 

"  Oh,  Basil,  don't  talk  so,  but  help  me,  like 
a  dear  boy,  to  find  Merton." 

Basil  stood  uncertain.  He  raised  a  threaten 
ing  glance  towards  Miss  Sophronia's  window ; 
but  Margaret  was  beside  him  in  a  moment. 
"  Basil,  to  please  me ! "  she  said.  She  laid 
her  hand  on  the  boy's  shoulder.  He  stood 
still,  and  Margaret  had  a  moment  of  painful 
doubt ;  but  the  next  instant  he  raised  his  face 
to  her  with  his  own  enchanting  smile.  "  All 
right !  "  he  said.  "  You  are  all  right,  Cousin 
Margaret,  whatever  other  folks  are,  and  I'll 
help  you  every  single  bit  I  can." 

"  That's  my  good,  helpful  boy !  "  said  Mar 
garet,  heartily.  "  Oh,  Basil,  you  and  I  to 
gether  can  do  a  great  deal,  but  alone  I  feel 
rather  helpless.  You  shall  be  my  little  — 
no,  not  little  —  you  shall  be  my  brother,  and 


A   NEWCOMER.  159 

tell  me  how  to  manage  Merton  and  Susan,  and 
make  them  love  me.  But  the  first  thing  is  to 
find  Merton.  What  can  have  become  of  the 
child  ?  Where  shall  we  look  for  him  ?  " 

"I  think  perhaps  down  by  the  bog/'  said 
Basil,  looking  very  important  and  pleased 
with  his  new  responsibility.  "He  said  he 
was  going  down  there,  first  chance  he  got. 
I  meant  to  go,  too,  but  I  won't  if  you  don't 
want  me  to,  Cousin  Margaret.  There's  a 
bully  —  " 
"Basil!" 

"There's  a  —  a  superb  workman  down 
there;  do  you  know  him,  Cousin  Margaret? 
I  guess  he's  the  boss,  or  something.  He  wears 
blue  overalls  and  a  blue  jumper,  and  he  can 
vault  —  oh  my!  how  that  fellow  can  vault !  " 
"Basil,  I  don't  feel  at  all  sure  that  your 
uncle  would  wish*  you  to  be  talking  with 
strange  workmen.  At  any  rate,  I  think  you 
ought  to  ask  leave,  don't  you?" 

"Maybe  I  ought!"  said  Basil,  cheerfully. 
"  But  it's  too  late  now,  you  see,  'cause  I  have 
talked  to  him,  quite  lots,  and  he's  awfully 
jolly.  Oh,  Jonah!  I  do  believe  there  he  is 


160  MAKGAKET    MONTFORT. 

now;  and  —  Cousin  Margaret!  I  do  believe 
he's  got  Mert  with  him  !  Look !  " 

Margaret  looked.  A  man  was  coming 
across  the  field  that  lay  beyond  the  garden 
wall ;  a  workingman,  from  his  blue  overalls 
and  jumper ;  a  young  man,  from  the  way  he 
moved,  and  from  his  light,  springy  step. 
Margaret  could  not  see  his  face,  but  his  hair 
was  red;  she  could  see  that  over  the  burden 
that  he  carried  in  his  arms. 

Coming  nearer,  this  burden  was  seen  to  be 
a  child.  A  chimney-sweeper  ?  No,  for  chim 
ney-sweepers  are  not  necessarily  wet ;  do  not 
drip  black  mud  from  head  to  foot;  do  not 
run  streams  of  black  bog  water. 

"  Merton  !  "  cried  poor  Margaret,  who  knew 
well  the  look  of  that  mud  and  water.  "Oh, 
what  has  happened  ?  Is  —  is  he  hurt  ? "  she 
cried  out,  running  towards  the  wall. 

The  young  workman  raised  a  cheerful  face, 
streaked  with  black,  and  presenting  the  ap 
pearance  of  a  light-hearted  savage  in  trim  for 
a  funeral. 

"  Not  a  bit  hurt ! "  he  called  in  return. 
"All  right,  only  wet,  and  a  trifle  muddy. 


A   NEWCOMER.  161 

Little  chap's  had  a  bath,  that's  all.     Hope 
you  haven't  been  anxious  about  him." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  have  been  anxious — thank  you ! 
You  are  sure  — he  has  not  been  in  danger?" 

"Well,"  the  stranger  admitted,  "just  as 
well  I  was  there,  perhaps.  It  isn't  a  safe 
place  for  children,  you  see.  How  are  you 
now,  old  chap  ?  He  was  a  bit  dizzy  when  I 
picked  him  up,  you  see." 

Merton  lifted  his  black  head,  and  looked 
ruefully  at  Margaret. 

"You  told  me  not  to  go!"  he  said.  "I 
won't  go  again." 

"  Well,  I  guess  you  won't !  "  cried  Basil, 
excitedly.  «  Why,  you've  been  in  all  over  ;  it's 
all  up  to  your  chin,  and  some  of  it's  on  the 
back  of  your  head.  I  say,  you  must " 

The  young  man  made  him  a  sign  quickly. 
"  He's  all  right !  "  he  said.  «  Mud  baths  ex 
tremely  hygienic  ;  recommended  by  the  medi 
cal  fraternity  ;  a  —  where  did  you  say  I  should 
put  him  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon  !  "  cried  Margaret. 
"  I  am  letting  you  hold  him  all  this  time,  and 
you  are  getting  all  wet,  too." 


162  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

"  No  consequence,  not  the  least  in  the  world. 
Besides, —  past  participle  perhaps  more  appro 
priate  than  present." 

Margaret  led  the  way  to  the  verandah,  and 
the  stranger  finally  deposited  his  burden  on 
the  steps.  Looking  down  at  himself,  he 
seemed  for  the  first  time  aware  of  his  sin 
gular  appearance,  for  he  blushed,  and,  lifting 
his  cap,  was  turning  away  with  a  muttered 
apology,  in  which  the  word  "clothes"  was 
the  only  word  Margaret  could  hear. 

"  Oh  !  "  she  cried,  "  you  are  not  going  yet ! 
I — I  have  not  thanked  you!  You  have 
saved  the  child's  life,  I  know  you  have.  I 
—  I  have  seen  something  of  that  bog,"  she 
shuddered.  "  Mr.  Montfort  will  want  to  see 
you,  and  thank  you  himself.  Do  at  least  tell 
me  your  name,  so  that  we  may  know  who  it  is 
that  has  done  us  this  great  service." 

But  here  the  young  man  caught  sight  of  his 
face,  reflected  in  a  window-pane,  and  lost  the 
last  vestige  of  self-possession.  "  If  —  if  you'll 
excuse  me,"  he  cried,  "  I  think  I'll  go  before 
Mr.  Montfort  comes.  The  costume  of  a  Mo 
hawk  on  the  war-path — effective,  but  unusual ; 


A   NEWCOMER.  163 

a — call  to-morrow  if  I  may,  to  see  if  the 
little  chap  is  all  right.  Mr.  Montfort  kindly 
asked  me  —  good  day !  " 

"  But  you  haven't  told  her  your  name  ! " 
Basil  shouted  after  him. 

"  Oh  !  Of  course  !  —  a  —  Merryweather  ! 
Gerald  Merryweather." 


CHAPTER  X. 

"I    MUST    HELP    MYSELF." 

"  DEAR  MARGARET  : 

"  I  find  a  telegram  here  which  obliges  me  to  run  on 
to  Philadelphia  at  once.  I  may  be  away  all  the  week ; 
do  as  well  as  you  can,  dear  child,  and  don't  let  B.,  M., 
and  S.  D.  tear  you  to  pieces.  I  forgot  to  tell  you 
that  the  young  man  in  charge  of  the  bog-draining 
turns  out  to  be  the  son  of  an  old  friend  of  mine, 
Miles  Merryweather.  I  asked  him  to  come  up  to 
the  house ;  if  he  should  come  while  I  am  away,  you 
will  be  good  to  him.  I  will  let  you  know  by  telegraph 
when  to  expect  me. 

"  Always  affectionately  yours, 

"JOHN    MONTFORT." 

Margaret  read  this  brief  letter  with  a  sink 
ing  heart.  How  was  she  to  keep  up  without 
Uncle  John  ?  How  was  she  to  cope  with  all 
the  difficulties  that  beset  her  path  like  sharp- 
thorned  briers  ?  If  she  had  but  Aunt  Faith  — 


164 


"  I    MUST    HELP    MYSELF."  165 

if  she  had  but  some  one  to  turn  to  !  She  had 
tried  to  take  counsel  with  Mrs.  Peyton,  but 
the  beautiful  woman  was  still,  at  fifty,  a  spoiled 
child,  far  younger  in  many  ways  than  Mar 
garet  herself ;  she  would  only  laugh,  and 
advise  her  to  get  rid  of  Miss  Sophronia  by 
some  trick,  or  practical  joke. 

"  Freeze  her  out,  iny  dear !  Get  rid  of  her, 
somehow !  That  is  all  the  advice  I  can  give 
you.  And  bring  the  young  barbarians  to  see 
me  ;  I  am  sure  they  will  amuse  me." 

Margaret  had  just  been  acting  on  this  last 
request.  She  had  taken  the  two  boys  to  see 
the  invalid,  and  had  left  them  there  now,  com 
ing  away  with  a  sore  and  angry  heart.  Mrs. 
Peyton  had  been  drawing  the  children  out, 
laughing  at  their  remarks  about  their  cousin, 
and  paying  no  regard  to  Margaret's  entreaties. 
At  length  Margaret  had  simply  come  away, 
with  no  more  than  a  brief  "  Good  afternoon  !  " 
feeling  that  she  could  not  trust  herself  to  say 
more.  Emily  Peyton  only  laughed ;  she  had 
full  confidence  in  her  charm,  and  thought  she 
could  bring  back  her  puritanical  little  friend 
whenever  she  chose  to  smile  in  a  particular 


166  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

way ;  meanwhile,  the  children  were  a  new  toy, 
and  amused  her. 

But  Margaret  felt  that  she  had  had  almost 
enough  of  Mrs.  Peyton.  Beauty  was  a  great 
deal,  charm  and  grace  were  a  great  deal  more ; 
but  they  did  not  take  the  place  of  heart.  No, 
there  was  no  one  to  help  her !  Well,  then  she 
must  help  herself,  that  was  all ! 

She  stood  still,  her  mind  full  of  this  new 
thought.  She  w^as  eighteen  years  old ;  she 
was  well  and  strong,  and  possessed  of  average 
intelligence.  "  Look  here ! "  she  said  suddenly, 
aloud.  "If  you  cannot  manage  those  chil 
dren,  why,  I  am  ashamed  of  you.  Do  you 
hear?" 

The  other  self,  the  timid  one,  did  hear,  and 
took  heart.  The  girl  felt  new  strength  com 
ing  to  her.  The  world  had  changed,  some 
how  ;  the  giants,  —  were  they  only  windmills, 
after  all  ?  Up,  lance,  and  at  them  ! 

In  this  changed  mood  she  went  on,  hum 
ming  a  little  song  to  herself.  As  she  drew 
near  the  wood  that  skirted  the  bog,  the  song 
was  answered  by  another,  trolled  in  a  cheerful 
bass  voice : 


"  I    MUST    HELP    MYSELF."  167 

"  The  lady  was  pleased  for  to  see  him  so  bold ; 
She  gave  him  her  glove  that  was  flowered  with  gold ; 
She  said  she  had  found  it  while  walking  around, 
As  she  was  a-hunting  with  her  dog  and  her  gun." 

The  "blue  boy/'  as  she  mentally  called  him, 
came  dancing  out  of  the  wood,  throwing  up 
his  cap,  and  singing  as  he  came.  At  sight  of 
Margaret  he  paused,  in  some  confusion,  cap 
in  hand. 

«I  —  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said.  "  I  trust 
I  did  not  disturb  you  with  my  carol  ?  There 
isn't  generally  any  one  here,  you  know ;  I  get 
rather  to  feel  as  if  it  all  belonged  to  me.  I 
hope  the  little  chap  is  all  right  to-day,  Miss 
is  it  Miss  Montfort  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  Certainly  ! "  said  Margaret, 
blushing  in  her  turn.  "  I  ought  to  have  said, 
of  course  —  yes,  thank  you,  Mr.  Merryweather, 
Merton  is  quite  well  to-day ;  and  I  really  think 
he  has  had  a  lesson,  for  he  has  not  run  away 
since,  and  it  is  two  or  three  days  ago.  I  — 
my  uncle  has  been  suddenly  called  away  on 
business,  but  he  asked  me  to  say  —  that  is,  we 
shall  be  very  glad  to  see  you  at  the  house  any 
day ;  Miss  Montfort,  his  cousin,  —  my  uncle's 


168  MARGARET    MCXNTFORT. 

cousin,  —  is  there  with  me  and  the  chil 
dren." 

"  Thanks  awfully/'  murmured  Gerald.  "  I'd 
like  to  come  ever  so  much,  some  day ;  but  I 
keep  all  in  a  mess  so  —  "  he  glanced  down 
ruefully  at  his  blue  clothes,  and  finding  them 
quite  respectably  clean,  brightened  visibly. 
"  My  father  was  at  school  with  Mr.  Montf ort ; 
Miles  Merryweather,  perhaps  he  told  you, 
Miss  Montfort  ?  " 

"Yes,  he  told  me.  I  —  I  always  think 
Uncle  John  must  have  been  such  a  delightful 
boy.  I  am  sure  they  must  have  had  good 
times  together." 

"  So  was  the  Pater,  no  end ;  I  mean,  my 
father  was  an  agreeable  youth  also."  Ger 
ald  stopped  short,  and  glanced  sidelong  at 
the  young  girl.  He  was  well  used  to  girls, 
having  sisters  and  cousins  ;  but  they  were  used 
to  him,  too,  and  he  "somehow  felt  that  this 
sweet,  serious-looking  maiden  was  not  accus 
tomed  to  young  men,  and  that  he  must,  as  he 
silently  put  it  to  himself,  "  consider  the  pru 
dent  P,  and  the  quaintly  quiggling  Q." 

"And  Uncle  John  must  have  been  a  bril- 


"  I    MUST    HELP    MYSELF."  169 

liant  scholar  ! "  Margaret  went  on,  warming 
to  her  subject.  She  had  never,  as  it  happened, 
walked  and  talked  with  a  lad  before  in  her 
quiet  life ;  she  did  not  know  quite  how  to  do 
it,  but  so  long  as  she  talked  about  Uncle  John, 
she  could  not  go  wrong.  "  He  knows  so  much, 
— so  much  that  he  must  have  learned  early, 
because  it  is  so  a  part  of  him.  Wasn't  he 
head  of  his  class  most  of  the  time  ?  He  never 

qgl 

will  talk  about  it,  but  I  am  sure  he  must  have 
been." 

"I  am  not  so  sure  about  that,"  Gerald 
admitted  ;  "  I  know  he  was  the  best  wrestler, 
and  that  he  and  my  father  were  generally 
neck  and  neck  in  all  the  running  races.  He 
was  a  better  high  kick,  because  his  legs  were 
longer,  don't  you  know,  but  the  Pater  was 
ahead  in  boxing." 

Margaret  was  bewildered.  Was  this  schol 
arship  ?  Was  this  the  record  that  brilliant 
boys  left  behind  them  ?  She  gave  a  little 
sigh  ;  the  mention  of  long  legs  brought  her 
back  to  Basil  again.  Dear  Basil  !  he  had  only 
one  pair  of  knickerbockers  left  that  was  fit 
to  be  seen.  She  ought  to  be  mending  the 


170  MARGARET   MONTFORT. 

corduroys  this  moment,  in  case  he  should  come 
home  all  in  pieces,  as  he  was  apt  to  do. 

"  Have  you  any  little  brothers,  Mr.  Merry- 
weather  ?  "  she  asked,  following  the  thread  of 
her  thought. 

"One;  Willy.  That  is,  he's  not  so  very 
little  now,  but  he's  a  good  bit  younger  than 
Phil  and  I ;  Phil  is  my  twin.  Willy  —  oh,  I 
suppose  he  must  be  fourteen,  or  somewhere 
about  there,  to  a  field  or  two." 

"  Basil  is  twelve,"  said  Margaret,  thought 
fully.  "And  does  he — or  did  he,  two  years 
ago,  —  I  suppose  a  boy  develops  very  quickly, 

—  did  he  want  to  be  climbing  and  jumping 
and  running  all  the  time  ?  " 

"  Let  me  see ! "  said  Gerald,  gravely.    "Why 

—  yes,  I  should  say  so,  Miss  Montfort.     Of 
course  he  stops  now  and  then  to  eat ;  and  then 
there's  the  time  that  he's  asleep,  you  know ; 
you  have  to  take  out  that.     But  otherwise,  — 
yes,  I  should  say  you  had  described  Willy's 
existence  pretty  well." 

"And  climbing  on  roofs?"  Margaret  went 
on.  "  And  tumbling  into  bogs,  and  turning 
somersaults?  What  can  be  the  pleasure  of 


"  I   MUST    HELP    MYSELF." 


turning  oneself  wrong  side  up  and  getting  the 
blood  into  one's  head  ?  " 

Margaret  stopped  suddenly,  and  the  colour 
rushed  into  her  face  ;  no  need  of  somersaults 
in  her  case.  For  had  not  this  young  man 
been  turning  somersaults  the  first  time  she 
saw  him  ?  And  turning  them  in  the  same 
senseless  way,  just  for  the  joy  of  it,  appar 
ently  ?  She  glanced  at  him,  and  he  was 
blushing  too  ;  but  he  met  her  look  of  distress 
with  one  so  comic  in  its  quizzical  appeal,  that 
she  laughed  in  spite  of  herself. 

"  I  love  to  turn  somersaults  !  "  he  mur 
mured.  "  'Twas  the  charm  of  my  chirping 
childhood  ;  it  is  now  the  solace  of  my  age. 
Don't  be  severe,  Miss  Montfort.  I  turn  them 
now,  sometimes  ;  I  will  not  deceive  you." 

"  Oh  !  oh,  }^es,  I  know  !  "  said  Margaret, 
timidly,  but  still  laughing  in  spite  of  herself. 
"I  —  I  saw  you  the  other  day,  Mr.  Merry- 
weather.  I  thought  —  you  seemed  to  be  en 
joying  yourself  very  much." 

"  No  !  Did  you,  though  ?  "  cried  Gerald.  "  I 
say  !  Where  was  it  ?  I  never  meant  to  do  it 
when  people  were  round.  I'm  awfully  sorry." 


172  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  said  Margaret,  confused.  "  Why 
shouldn't  you  ?  It  —  it  was  by  the  edge  of 
the  bog.  I  had  come  round  that  way,  and 
you  were  leaping  with  a  pole  about  the  bog, 
and  I  —  stayed  to  watch  you.  I  hope  you 
don't  mind ; "  this  foolish  girl  was  blush 
ing  again  furiously,  which  was  most  un 
necessary;  "and  —  I  thought  you  must  be 
a  foreigner;  I  don't  know  why.  And  —  and 
then  you  came  out,  and  turned  a  somersault, 
and  —  I  wondered  why,  that  was  all.  You 
see,  I  never  had  a  brother,  and  I  have  never 
known  any  boys  in  all  my  life  till  now.  I 
don't  mean  that  you  are  a  boy,  of  course !  " 

"Oh,  but  I  am/"  cried  Gerald.  "What 
else  am  I  but  a  boy  ?  I  wish  they  could  hear 
you  at  home.  Why,  I'm  just  Jerry,  you  know, 
and  - —  and  I've  always  been  that  kind  of  boy, 
I'm  afraid ;  just  like  Willy,  only  a  good  deal 
worse.  And  now  —  well,  I've  been  through 
college,  and  now  I'm  in  the  School  of  Mines, 
and  I'm  twenty-one,  and  all  that,  but  I  can't 
seem  to  make  myself  feel  any  older,  don't  you 
know.  I  don't  know  what's  going  to  become 
of  me.  Hilda  says  I  won't  grow  up  till  I  fall 


"  I    MUST    HELP    MYSELF."  173 

— oh!  you  don't  know  Hilda,  do  you,  Miss 
Montfort?" 

"Hilda?*'  repeated  Margaret.  "I  only 
know  Hilda  in  the  ' Marble  Faun.'" 

"  Hildegarde  Merry  weather ;  Hildegarde 
Grahame  she  used  to  be.  I  thought  you 
might  possibly  have  —  well,  she's  my  aunt 
according  to  the  flesh.  I  wish  you  did  know 
her ! " 

"  Your  aunt  ?  Is  she  —  is  she  about  Uncle 
John's  age  ?  I  know  so  few  people,  you  see. 
I  have  lived  a  very  quiet  life." 

"Oh,  no!  She  —  well,  I  suppose  she's  a 
little  older  than  you,  but  not  very  much. 
She  married  Roger,  don't  you  know.  He's 
my  half -uncle  all  right,  but  he's  ever  so  many 
years  younger  than  the  Pater,  nearer  our  age, 
you  might  almost  say ;  and  Hildegarde  and 
the  girls,  my  sisters,  —  I  say !  I  wish  you 
knew  them  all,  Miss  Montfort." 

"I  wish  I  did,"  said  Margaret,  simply. 
"  There  are  no  girls  of  my  own  age  near 
here.  Last  year  I  had  my  cousins,  and  I 
miss  them  so  much!" 

"Of  course  you  must!"  said  sympathetic 


174  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

Gerald.  "Girls  are  no  end  —  I  —  I  mean, 
I  like  them  too,  ever  so  much."  He  paused, 
and  wished  he  knew  the  right  thing  to  say. 
How  pretty  and  sweet  she  was  !  Not  like 
Hilda,  of  course  (Hilda  was  this  young  man's 
ideal  of  what  a  girl  should  be),  but  with  a 
little  quiet  way  of  her  own  that  was  very 
nice.  She  must  have  no  end  of  a  time  of  it 
with  these  youngsters !  •  He  spoke  his  thought 
aloud.  They  were  near  ing  Fernley,  and  he 
must  leave  her  soon.  "  You  must  be  having 
some  difficulty  with  those  youngsters,  Miss 
Montfort.  If  I  could  help  you  any  time,  I 
wish  you'd  let  me  know.  There  have  always 
been  such  a  lot  of  us  at  home,  I'm  used  to 
most  kinds  of  children,  you  see ;  and  I  should 
be  ever  so  glad  —  " 

"  Oh,  thank  you !  "  said  Margaret,  grate 
fully.  "  I  am  sure  you  are  very  kind ;  and 
if  you  would  advise  me  sometimes  —  now 
that  Uncle  John  is  away  —  I  should  be  most 
grateful.  But — I  ought  to  be  able  to  man 
age  them  myself,  it  seems  to  me,  without  help. 
If  I  can  only  make  them  love  me !  "  She 
looked  straight  at  Gerald,  and  her  darh  gray 


WON'T  YOU   COME  IN?'' 


"I    MUST    HELP    MYSELF."  175 

eyes  were  very  wistful  in  their  unconscious 
appeal. 

"  I'd  like  to  see  'em  not !  "  said  the  young 
man,  straightway.  "  Little  beggars !  They 
couldn't  help  themselves!"  He  was  about 
to  add  that  he  would  thrash  them  hand 
somely  if  they  did  not  love  her,  but  pulled 
himself  together,  and  blushed  to  his  ears,  and 
was  only  comforted  by  seeing  out  of  the  tail 
of  his  eye  that  the  girl  was  wholly  uncon 
scious  of  his  blushes.  After  all,  there  was 
some  sense  in  freckles  and  sunburn. 

But  here  they  were  now  at  the  gates  of 
Fernley.  "  Won't  you  come  in  ?  "  said  Mar 
garet.  But  Gerald,  becoming  once  more 
conscious  of  his  working-clothes,  which  he 
had  entirely  forgotten,  excused  himself.  If 
he  might  come  some  evening  soon  ?  Yes,  he 
might,  and  should.  He  lingered  still  a  moment, 
and  Margaret,  after  a  moment's  shyness,  held 
out  her  hand  frankly.  "  I  am  so  glad  to  know 
you !  "  she  said,  simply.  "  Uncle  John  —  Mr. 
Montfort  said  I  was  to  be  good  to  you,  and 
I  will  try." 

"I'm  sure  you  couldn't  be  anything  else !  " 


176  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

said  Gerald,  with  fervour.  "  Thanks,  awfully, 
Miss  Montfort.  Good-bye  !  "  Lifting  his  cap, 
the  young  man  turned  away,  feeling  home 
sick,  and  yet  cheerful.  Passing  round  the 
corner  of  the  house,  and  finding  himself  well 
out  of  sight  of  the  young  girl,  he  relieved  his 
feelings  by  turning  a  handspring ;  and  on 
coming  to  his  feet  again,  encountered  the 
awful  gaze  of  two  greenish  eyes,  bent  upon 
him  from  an  upper  window  of  the  house. 

"  Now  I've  done  it !  "  said  the  youth,  brush 
ing  himself,  and  assuming  all  the  dignity  of 
which  he  was  master.  "  Wonder  who  that 
is  ?  Housekeeper,  perhaps  ?  Quite  the  Gor 
gon,  whoever  it  is.  Wish  I  didn't  turn  over 
so  easily." 

Margaret  went  into  the  house  singing,  with 
a  lighter  heart  than  she  had  felt  since  Uncle 
John's  letter  came.  Perhaps  she  had  made 
a  friend  ;  at  any  rate,  a  pleasant  acquaintance. 
What  a  frank,  nice,  gentlemanly — boy !  "  For 
he  is  a  boy,  just  as  he  says ! "  she  acknowl 
edged  to  herself.  And  what  kind,  honest 
eyes  he  had ;  and  how  thoughtful,  to  offer  to 
help  her  with  the  children! 


"  I    MUST    HELP    MYSELF."  177 

Her  pleasant  meditations  were  harshly  in 
terrupted.  Miss  Sophronia  came  down-stairs, 
with  her  brown  and  yellow  shawl  drawn  over 
her  shoulders;  this,  Margaret  had  learned, 
was  a  bad  sign. 

"Margaret,  who  was  that  young  man?  I 
saw  you !  There  is  no  use  in  attempting  to 
conceal  anything  from  me,  my  dear.  I  saw 
you  talking  with  a  young  man  at  the  gate." 

"Why  should  I  conceal  it?"  asked  Mar 
garet,  wondering.  "  It  was  Mr.  Merry- 
weather,  Cousin  Sophronia.  He  was  a 
schoolmate  of  Uncle  John's,  —  I  mean  his 
father  was." 

"  Stuff  and  nonsense ! "  cried  the  lady, 
sharply.  "Don't  tell  me  anything  of  the 
kind,  miss.  He  was  a  common  workman, 
a  day-labourer.  I  tell  you  I  saw  him!  Do 
you  suppose  I  have  no  eyes  in  my  head  ?  I 
shall  consider  it  my  duty  to  tell  your  uncle 
as  soon  as  he  comes  home.  I  am  surprised  at 
you,  Margaret.  I  thought  at  least  you  were 
discreet.  William's  daughters  would  no  more 
think  of  talking  with  such  a  person  —  but 
that  comes  of  leaving  a  young  person  alone 


178  MARGAKET   MONTFORT. 

here  with  servants.  My  dear,  I  shall  make 
it  a  point  henceforward — " 

She  stopped;  for  the  gentle  Margaret 
turned  upon  her  with  eyes  of  fire.  "  Cousin 
Sophronia,  I  cannot  listen  to  this ;  I  will  not 
listen!  I  am  a  gentlewoman,  and  must  be 
spoken  to  as  a  gentlewoman.  I  am  eighteen 
years  old,  and  am  accountable  to  no  one  except 
Uncle  John  for  my  behaviour.  Let  me  pass, 
please !  I  want  to  go  to  my  room." 

The  girl  swept  by,  her  head  high,  her 
cheeks  burning  with  righteous  wrath.  Miss 
Sophronia  gazed  after  her  speechless ;  it  was 
as  if  a  dove  had  ruffled  its  wings  and  flown  in 
her  face.  "  Ungrateful  girl !  "  said  the  lady 
to  herself.  "  I  never  meet  with  anything  but 
ingratitude  wherever  I  go.  She  is  as  bad  as 
those  girls  of  William's,  for  all  her  soft  looks. 
The  human  heart  is  very,  very  depraved.  But 
I  shall  do  my  duty,  in  spite  of  everything." 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE    SECOND    CONQUEST. 

THE  boys  came  home  late  for  tea  that 
night,  bubbling  over  with  joy.  Basil  de 
clared  that  they  did  not  want  any  supper. 
"Mrs.  Peyton  gave  us  some  of  her  supper. 
I  say,  Cousin  Margaret,  isn't  she  bully?" 
"  Basil,  if  you  could  find  another  adjective 
now  and  then!  I  cannot  imagine  anything 
less  appropriate  to  Mrs.  Peyton  than  — the 
one  you  used." 

"Oh,  well,  it  doesn't  matter!  She  is 
bully !  She  had  broiled  chicken,  a  whole 
one,  and  she  just  took  a  little  piece  off  the 
breast  for  herself,  and  then  she  told  Mert  and 
me  each  to  take  a  leg  and  run.  And  we  did  ! 
And  Mert  sat  down  in  the  china  bath-tub 
with  his,  and  smashed  it,  — cracked  it,  at 
least,  — and  she  said  she  didn't  care." 
"And  the  table-drawer  was  full  of  choco- 


179 


180  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

late  peppermints/'  chimed  in  Merton,  "and 
we  ate  so  many,  I  don't  feel  very  well  now,  I 
think,  p'r'aps." 

"And  she  told  us  lots  of  things!"  cried 
Basil   again;    he   looked    towards    Miss    So 
phronia,  with  sparkling  eyes.     "  She  told  us 
about  when  she  was  a  little   girl,  and  used 
to  stay  here,  when  Uncle  John's  puppa  and 
mumma  were  alive.  '  I  say!     And  you  were 
here,  too,  she  said,  Cousin  Sophronia.     And 
she  said  —  lots  of  things  !  "     The  boy  stopped 
suddenly,    and   gave   his    brother   a  look   of 
intelligence. 

"  Ho  ! "  said  Merton,  "  I  know  what  you 
mean,  — you  mean  about  the  ghost,  that 
scared  — I  say!  You  stop  pinching,  will 
you?  I'll  punch  your- 

"  Merton  !  "  said  Margaret,  warningly. 
"Well,   he    was    pinching    me!"    whined 
Merton.     "And  it   did   scare  you,   didn't  it, 
Cousin  Sophronia?" 

Miss  Sophronia  looked  disturbed.  <  Mer 
ton,  you  should  speak  when  you  are  spoken 
to!"  she  said,  severely.  "I  am  surprised 
that  Mrs.  Peyton  should  have  told  you  such 


THE    SECOND    CONQUEST.  181 

things.  There  certainly  were  some  very 
strange  occurrences  at  Fernley,  Margaret, 
when  I  was  a  young  girl.  They  never  were 
explained  to  my  satisfaction  ;  indeed,  I  never 
heard  of  their  being  explained  at  all.  Little 
boys,  if  you  do  not  want  any  supper,  you 
may  as  well  run  away.  I  do  not  ap 
prove  of  their  going  to  see  Emily  Peyton, 
Margaret.  I  shall  make  a  point  of  their 
not  doing  so  in  future.  She  was  always 
malicious." 

She  seemed  much  fluttered,  and  Margaret, 
wondering,  hastened  to  change  the  subject. 
"  I  wonder  where  Susan  D.  can  be.  I  have 
not  seen  the  child  since  I  came  in,  and  she 
did  not  answer  when  I  called  her.  Elizabeth, 
do  you  —  " 

"  Pardon  me,  Margaret,  my  love  ! "  Miss 
Sophronia  interposed.  "  Susan  D.  is  in  bed  ; 
I  sent  her  to  bed  an  hour  ago." 

"  Oh,  Cousin  Sophronia !  Without  her 
supper  ?  What  had  she  done  ?  " 

"  She  was  disobedient,  my  dear,  —  disobe 
dient  and  impertinent.  I  have  no  doubt 
that  this  will  have  an  excellent  effect  upon 


182  MARGARET   MONTFORT. 

the    child.     Basil,   what    do   you   want  ?      I 
told  you  to  go  away." 

"Cousin  Margaret,  could  I  speak  to  you 
a  moment,  please?"  asked  the  boy. 

"  I  will  come  to  you,  Basil,"  said  Margaret, 
quickly.  "Will  you  excuse  me,  Cousin  So- 
phronia,  please?  I  have  quite  finished. 
Now,  Basil,  what  is  it?" 

She  led  the  boy  carefully  out  of  earshot, 
for  thunder  and  lightning  were  in  his  face, 
and  she  foresaw  an  outburst. 

"  Susan  D.  is  in  bed  !  "  cried  Basil.  "  She  has 
had  no  supper  at  all ;  Elizabeth  said  so.  That 
woman  sent  her.  Cousin  Margaret,  I  won't 
stand  it.  I  —  I'll  set  fire  to  her  clothes  !  I'll 
shoot  her  !  I'll  —  I'll  kill  her  some  way  —  " 

Margaret  laid  her  hand  over  the  boy's 
mouth.  "  You  will  be  silent ! "  she  said. 
66  Not  a  word,  not  a  syllable,  till  you  can 
speak  like  a  civilised  being.  We  will  have 
no  savages  here." 

Basil  said  no  word,  —  he  knew  well  enough 
when  he  must  obey,  —  but  he  set  his  teeth, 
and  clenched  his  fists ;  the  veins  on  his 
temples  swelled,  his  .whole  childish  frame 


THE    SECOND    CONQUEST.  183 

shook  with  anger.  Margaret  had  never 
seen  any  one,  not  even  Rita,  in  such  a  pas 
sion  as  this.  For  a  few  moments,  the  two 
stood  motionless,  facing  each  other.  Then 
Margaret  took  the  boy's  hand  in  hers,  and 
led  him  out  into  the  garden.  Still  hold 
ing  his  hand,  she  paced  up  and  down  the 
green  walk  in  silence,  Basil  following  obe 
diently.  The  evening  was  falling  soft  and 
dusk;  the  last  bird  was  chirping  sleepily; 
the  air  was  full  of  the  scent  of  flowers. 
Behind  the  dark  trees,  where  the  sun  had 
gone  down,  the  sky  still  glowed  with  soft, 
yellow  light.  "  See  !  "  said  Margaret,  pres 
ently.  "There  is  the  first  star.  Let  us 
wish!  Oh,  Basil  dear,  let  us  wish — and 
pray  —  for  a  good  thing,  for  strength  to 
overcome  —  ourselves." 

The  boy's  hand  pressed  hers  convulsively, 
but  he  did  not  speak  at  first.  Presently  he 
said,  almost  in  a  whisper,  "She  is  so  little, 
—  and  so  thin  !  I  told  Mother  I  would  take 
care  of  her.  But  —  I  said  —  I  would  try  not 
to  let  go  of  myself,  too." 

Very   tenderly   Margaret    drew   the   child 


184  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

down  beside  her,  on  a  rustic  bench  that 
stood  under  one  of  the  great  tulip-trees. 
In  the  quiet  darkness,  she  felt  his  heart 
open  to  her  even  more  than  it  had  done 
yet.  In  the  hour  that  followed,  she  learned 
the  story  of  a  wild,  faithful  nature,  full  of 
mischief,  full  of  love.  The  passionate  love 
for  his  mother,  whom  he  remembered  well ; 
the  faithful,  scowling  devotion  to  the  little 
sister,  whom  no  one  should  scold  but  him 
self,  and  whom  he  shook,  and  bullied,  and 
protected  with  a  sole  eye  to  her  good ;  all 
this,  and  much  more,  Margaret  learned.  The 
two  sat  hand  in  hand,  and  took  counsel 
together.  "  Oh,  it  is  so  good  to  have  some 
one  to  talk  to,"  cried  Basil. 

"Isn't  it,  dear?"  said  Margaret.  "Now 
you  know  how  I  feel  with  Uncle  John  away ; 
and  —  oh,  Basil,  before  I  had  Uncle  John, — 
when  my  father  died,  —  oh,  my  dear  !  But 
you  are  going  to  be  my  brother  now,  Basil, 
—  my  dear,  dear  little  brother,  aren't  you  ? 
And  you  will  tell  me  how  to  make  Susan 
D.  love  me.  I  think  you  do  love  me  a  little 
already,  don't  you,  Basil?" 


THE    SECOND    CONQUEST.  185 

For  all  answer,  Basil  threw  his  arms  round 
her,  and  gave  her  such  a  hug  as  made  her  gasp 
for  breath. 

"Dear  boy/'  cried  Margaret,  "don't  — 
kill  me  !  Oh,  Basil !  I  tried  to  hug  Susan  D. 
the  other  day,  and  I  might  as  well  have 
hugged  the  door  !  She  won't  even  let  me  kiss 
her  good  night ;  that  is,  she  lets  me,  but  there 
is  no  response.  Why  doesn't  she  like  me,  do 
you  think  ?  " 

"She  does!"  said  Basil.  "Or  she  will, 
soon  as  she  can  get  out  of  herself.  Don't  you 
know  what  I  mean,  Cousin  Margaret?  It's 
as  if  she  had  a  dumb  spirit,  like  that  fellow 
in  the  Bible,  don't  you  know?  Nobody  but 
me  understands ;  but  you  will,  just  once  you 
get  inside." 

"Ah,  but  how  shall  I  ever  get  inside?" 
said  Margaret. 

Basil  nodded  confidently.  "  You  will !  "  he 
said.  "I  know  you  will,  some  time.  Oh, 
Cousin  Margaret,  mayn't  I  take  her  something 
to  eat  ?  She's  always  hungry,  Susan  D.  is, 
and  I  know  she  won't  sleep  a  mite  if  she 
doesn't  have  anything.  I  —  no,  I  won't  let 


186  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

go  again,  but  it  is  the  meanest,  hatefullest 
thing  that  ever  was  done  in  the  world  !  Now 
isn't  it,  Cousin  Margaret  ?  Don't  you  think 
so  yourself  ?  " 

Sorely  puzzled  as  to  the  exact  path  of  duty, 
Margaret  tried  to  explain  to  the  boy  how 
ideas  of  discipline  had  changed  since  Cousin 
Sophronia  was  a  young  girl;  how,  probably, 
she  had  herself  been  brought  up  with  rigid 
severity,  and,  never  having  married,  had  kept 
all  the  old  cast-iron  ideas  which  were  now 
superseded  by  wider  and  better  knowledge  and 
sympathy.  As  to  this  particular  point, 
what  should  she  say  ?  Her  whole  kind  nature 
revolted  against  the  thought  of  the  hungry 
child,  alone,  waking,  perhaps  weeping,  with 
no  one  to  comfort  her;  yet  how  could  she, 
Margaret,  possibly  interfere  with  the  doings 
of  one  old  enough  to  be  her  mother? 

Pondering  in  anxious  perplexity,  she  chanced 
to  raise  her  eyes  to  the  house.  It  was  brightly 
lighted,  and,  as  it  happened,  the  curtains  had 
not  been  drawn.  "Look!"  said  Margaret, 
pressing  the  boy's  hand  in  hers.  "Basil, 
look!" 


THE    SECOND    CONQUEST.  187 

One  long,  narrow  window  looked  directly 
upon  the  back  stairs,  which  led  from  the  ser 
vants'  hall  to  the  upper  floor.  Up  these 
stairs,  past  the  window,  a  figure  was  now  seen 
to  pass,  swiftly  and  stealthily ;  a  portly  figure, 
carrying  something  that  looked  like  a  heaped 
up  plate ;  the  figure  of  Frances  the  cook.  It 
passed,  and  in  a  moment  more  they  saw  light, 
as  of  an  opening  door,  flash  into  the  dark 
window  of  the  corner  room  where  the  little 
girl  slept. 

"Do  you  know,  Basil,"  said  Margaret,  "I 
wouldn't  worry  any  more  about  Susan  D.'s 
being  hungry.  There  is  one  person  in  Fern- 
ley  whom  no  one,  not  even  Uncle  John,  can 
manage ;  that  is  Frances." 

An  hour  or  so  later,  Margaret  was  coming 
down  from  the  nursery.  Merton  had  an 
nounced,  as  bedtime  drew  near,  that  he  "  felt 
a  pain;"  and  Margaret  had  no  difficulty  in 
tracing  it  to  Mrs.  Peyton's  careless  indulgence. 
She  stole  down  quietly  to  the  cheerful  back 
room  where  Frances  and  Elizabeth  sat  with 
their  sewing,  and  begged  for  some  simple 
remedy.  Frances  rose  with  alacrity.  "  Check- 


188  MARGARET    MOOTFORT. 

erberry  cordial  is  what  you  want,  Miss  Mar 
garet/'  she  said.  "I've  made  it  for  thirty 
year,  and  I  hope  I  know  its  merits.  No 
wonder  the  child  is  sick.  If  some  had  their 
way,  everybody  in  this  house  'ud  be  sick  to 
starvation." 

"  I  am  afraid  it  was  the  other  thing  in  this 
case,  Frances,"  said  Margaret,  meekly.  "I'm 
afraid  Master  Merton  ate  too  many  rich  things 
at  Mrs.  Peyton's."  Now  in  general,  Frances 
could  not  abide  patiently  the  mention  of  Mrs. 
Peyton ;  but  this  time  she  declared  she  was 
glad  the  child  had  had  enough  to  eat  for  once. 
"  'Twill  do  him  no  harm !  "  she  said,  stoutly. 
"  Give  him  ten  drops  of  this,  Miss  Margaret, 
in  a  wine-glass  of  hot  water,  —  wait  a  minute, 
dear,  and  I'll  mix  it  myself,  —  and  he'll  turn 
over  and  go  to  sleep  like  a  lamb.  Treating 
children  as  if  they  was  one  half  starch  and 
t'other  half  sticks !  Don't  tell  me !  " 

Knowing  that  none  of  this  wrath  was 
directed  against  herself,  Margaret  wisely  held 
her  tongue,  and  departed  with  her  glass,  leav 
ing  Frances  still  muttering,  and  Elizabeth 
with  lips  pursed  up  in  judicious  silence.  And 


THE    SECOND    CONQUEST.  189 

Merton  took  it  and  felt  better,  and  was  glad 
enough  to  be  petted  a  little,  and  finally  to  be 
tucked  up  with  the  hot  water-bottle  for  a  com 
forter. 

As  has  been  said,  Margaret  was  coming 
down-stairs  after  this  mission  was  fulfilled, 
when  she  met  Miss  Sophronia  coming  up. 
"  All  quiet  up-stairs,  my  dear  ?  "  said  the  lady. 
"I  am  going  to  bed  myself,  Margaret,  for  I 
feel  a  little  rheumatic,  or  I  should  rather  say 
neuralgic,  perhaps.  These  things  are  very 
obscure  ;  the  doctor  says  my  case  is  a  very  re 
markable  one ;  he  has  never  seen  another  like 
it.  Yes,  and  now  I  am  going  to  make  sure 
that  this  child  is  all  right,  and  that  she  does 
not  actually  need  anything.  Duty,  Margaret, 
is  a  thing  I  can  never  neglect." 

Margaret  followed  her  cousin  into  the  room, 
feeling  rather  self-reproachful.  Perhaps  she  had 
been  unjust  in  her  judgment.  Cousin  Sophro 
nia  was  of  course  doing  the  best,  or  what  she 
thought  the  best,  for  this  poor  wild  little  girl. 

Miss  Sophronia  advanced  towards  the  bed, 
holding  up  her  candle.  Margaret,  looking 
over  her  shoulder,  saw  the  child  lying  fast 


190  MARGARET    MOKTFORT. 

asleep,  her  hand  under  her  cheek.  Her  face 
was  flushed,  and  her  fair  hair  lay  in  a 
tangle  on  the  pillow.  Margaret  had  never 
seen  her  look  so  nearly  pretty.  There  were 
traces  of  tears  on  her  face,  too,  and  she  sobbed 
a  little,  softly,  in  her  sleep. 

"  Poor  little  thing !  "  whispered  Margaret ; 
but  Miss  Sophronia  was  not  looking  at  Susan 
D.  now.  With  stiff,  outstretched  finger  she 
pointed  to  the  floor.  "  Look  at  that !  "  she 
said,  in  a  penetrating  whisper.  Indeed,  the 
child  had  dropped  her  clothes  on  the  floor  all 
at  once,  and  they  lay  in  an  untidy  heap, 
shocking  to  Margaret's  eyes,  which  loved  to 
see  things  neatly  laid.  She  shook  her  head 
and  was  about  to  murmur  some  extenuation 
of  the  offence,  when  —  Miss  Sophronia  set 
down  the  candle  on  the  stand;  then,  with  a 
quick,  decided  motion,  she  pulled  the  sleeping 
child  out  of  bed.  "  Susan  D.,"  she  said,  "pick 
up  your  clothes  at  once.  Never  let  me  find 
them  in  this  condition  again.  Shocking !  " 

The  child  stood  helpless,  bewildered,  blink 
ing,  half  awake,  at  the  light,  not  in  the  least 
understanding  what  was  said  to  her.  Miss 


THE    SECOND    CONQUEST.  191 

Sophronia  took  her  by  the  shoulder,  not  un 
kindly,  and  repeated  her  command.  "Pick 
them  up  at  once,  my  dear!  Let  this  be  a 
lesson  to  you,  never  to  leave  your  clothes  on 
the  floor  again."  Still  only  half  comprehend 
ing,  the  child  stooped,  stumbling  as  she  did 
so,  and  picking  up  the  clothes,  laid  them  on 
the  chair  as  she  was  directed. 

"  There !  "  said  Miss  Sophronia,  in  high 
satisfaction.  "  Now,  my  dearest  Margaret, 
you  will  see  that  this  child  will  never  neglect 
her  clothes  again.  A  lesson  promptly  admin 
istered,  on  the  spot,  is  worth  all  the  preaching 
in  the  world.  Get  into  bed  again,  Susan  D., 
and  go  to  sleep  like  a  good  child.  Some  day 
you  will  be  very  grateful  to  your  Cousin 
Sophronia  for  teaching  you  these  things." 

She  turned  away  with  the  candle.  Mar 
garet,  standing  in  the  shadow,  saw  the  child 
still  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  a 
forlorn,  shivering  little  figure,  silent;  the  most 
piteous  sight  those  tender  eyes  had  ever  looked 
upon.  Softly  the  girl  closed  the  door.  "  Mar 
garet,"  she  heard  her  cousin  say.  "  Oh,  she  is 
gone  down-stairs !  "  and  the  steps  went  away 


192  MARGARET   MONTFORT. 

along  the  entry.  But  Margaret  groped  her 
way  to  where  Susan  D.  stood;  the  next  mo 
ment  she  had  the  child  in  her  arms,  and  was 
pressing  her  close,  close.  A  rocking-chair  was 
by;  she  had  seen  it,  and  knew  where  to 
lay  her  hand  to  draw  it  forward.  She  sank 
down  in  it,  and  rocked  to  and  fro,  murmuring 
inarticulate  words  of  comfort.  The  night  was 
warm,  but  still  the  child  shivered  ;  Margaret, 
groping  again,  found  a  shawl,  and  wrapped  it 
round  her.  There  was  no  more  holding  off, 
no  more  resistance ;  the  little  creature  clung 
around  Margaret's  neck  with  a  desperate  hold, 
as  if  she  dared  not  let  her  go  for  an  instant. 
Her  breast  heaved  once  or  twice,  silently; 
then  she  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears,  and 
sobbed  on  her  cousin's  heart.  "  I  love  you  !  " 
cried  the  child.  "You  are  good,  and  I  love 
you !  Don't  —  don't  leave  me  alone,  please 
don't ! " 

Margaret  held  her  close  in  her  warm,  lov 
ing  arms.  "  My  lamb  !  "  she  said.  "  My  little 
girl !  Indeed  I  will  not  leave  you..  Quiet 
now,  dearie ;  quiet  and  don't  cry  !  Oh,  Susan 
D.,  I  have  no  mother,  either,  dear ;  let  us  love 


THE    SECOND    CONQUEST.  193 

each  other  a  great,  great  deal!  "  and  Susan  D. 
sobbed,  and  curled  closer  yet,  as  if  she  would 
wind  herself  into  the  very  heart  that  beat  so 
kindly  and  so  tenderly. 

So  they  sat,  till  the  sobs  died  away  into 
soft,  broken  breathings.  Margaret  began  to 
sing,  and  crooned  one  after  another  the  old 
songs  that  Katy  used  to  sing  to  her  when  she 
was  rocked  just  so  on  that  broad,  faithful 
Irish  breast.  Susan  D.  lifted  her  head  a  little 
towards  her  ear.  "What  is  it  ?  "  said  Margaret, 
bending  down. 

"I — I  do  like  singing!"  whispered  the 
child. 

Margaret  nodded,  and  sang  on.  By  and  by 
the  almost  frantic  clasp  of  the  small  arms 
loosened;  the  head  sank  back  gently  on  her 
arm;  the  child  was  asleep.  Margaret  rose 
to  lay  her  down,  but  instantly  she  started  up 
again,  affrighted,  and  cried  out,  and  begged 
not  to  be  left  alone.  What  was  to  be  done  ? 
Margaret  hesitated ;  then  she  bade  the  child 
hold  fast,  and  slowly,  carefully  she  made  her 
way  down  the  stairs  and  through  the  passage 
to  her  own  room,  and  did  not  pause  till  the 


194  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

little  child  was  lying  safe,  happy,  and  wonder 
ing,  in  the  white  bed,  in  the  wonderful  White 
Room. 

"  Crowd  me  ?  "  said  Cousin  Margaret.  "  Not 
a  bit  of  it !  There  is  plenty  of  room,  and  in  the 
morning  we  will  have  a  most  lovely  cuddle, 
and  tell  stories.  But  now  go  to  sleep  this  very 
minute,  Susan  D.,  while  I  do  my  hair.  Good 
night,  little  sister  !  " 

«  Good  night ! "  said  Susan  D.  "  I  love  you ! 
Good  night  1 " 


CHAPTER   XII. 

THE    VOICE    OF    FEKNXEY. 

FROM  that  night,  Susan  D.  was  Margaret's 
friend  and  true  lover. 

She  followed  her  round  in  the  hope  of 
being  able  to  do  some  little  service  of  love. 
She  brought  her  flowers,  and  hunted  the 
fields  for  the  largest  and  finest  berries  for 
her.  At  any  hour  of  the  day,  Margaret 
might  feel  a  little  hot  hand  slide  into  hers 
and  deposit  a  handful  of  warm,  moist  rasp 
berries  or  blueberries.  Sometimes  this  bred 
trouble,  as  when  Merton  waylaid  his  sister, 
and  wrested  the  hard-won  treasures  from  her 
for  his  own  refreshment ;  with  the  result  of 
shrieks  and  scuffling,  and  a  final  thrashing 
from  his  elder  brother;  or,  as  when  Cousin 
Sophronia  detected  the  child  sidling  along 
with  closed  palm,  and  demanded  to  see  what 
she  had.  Susan  D.  resisted  stoutly,  till  at 

195 


196  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

length,  yielding  to  superior  strength,  she 
threw  the  berries  on  the  floor,  and  trampled 
them  into  the  carpet.  There  was  a  good  deal 
of  this  kind  of  thing;  but  still  the  change 
was  a  blessed  one,  and  Margaret,  when  she 
met  the  beaming  look  of  love  in  the  child's 
face,  and  remembered  the  suspicious  scowl 
that  had  greeted  her  only  so  few  days  ago, 
was  most  thankful,  and  felt  it  to  be  worth 
any  amount  of  trouble,  even  to  taking  the 
spots  out  of  the  carpet,  which  was  a  hard 
thing  to  do. 

"  I  told  you !  "  said  Basil,  smiling  superior. 
"  I  told  you,  once  you  got  inside,  you'd  find 
the  kid  not  at  all  so  bad.     I  say,  Cousin  Mar 
garet,  you're  not  a  fraidcat,  are  you  ?  " 
5  "A  what,  Basil?" 

"A  fraidcat!  Don't  you  know  what  a 
fraidcat  is,  Cousin  Margaret  ?  Seems  to  me 
you  didn't  learn  many  modern  expressions 
when  you  were  a  little  girl,  did  you?" 

"Really,  Basil,  I  think  I  learned  all  that 
were  necessary,"  said  Margaret,  laughing. 
"I  did  not  learn  slang,  certainly,  nor  boy- 
jargon,  and  I  don't  care  to  take  lessons, 


THE    VOICE    OF    FERNLEY.  197 

thank  you.  Don't  you  think  good,  plain 
English  is  good  enough?" 

"  Oh,  well,  it  sounds  all  right  from  you, 
'cause  you  are  you,  and  you  wouldn't  match 
yourself  if  you  didn't  talk  that  way,  I  sup 
pose.  But  it  would  sound  silly  for  a  boy  to 
go  on  so,  don't  you  see  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  I  don't  see  very  well,  Basil, 
but  no  matter.  The  things  I  am  afraid  of  are 
spiders  and  caterpillars  and  cows !  Is  that 
what  you  wanted  to  know  ? " 

"N — not  exactly!"  said  the  boy;  "but 
no  matter,  Cousin  Margaret.  You  haven't 
got  a  ball  of  twine,  have  you  ?  Oh,  yes, 
please !  Thank  you,  that  is  just  exactly 
what  I  wanted.  You  always  know  where 
things  are,  don't  you?  That's  bully!" 

The  children  had  been  very  good  for  the 
last  few  days ;  singularly  good,  Margaret 
thought,  as  she  sat  on  the  verandah  in  the 
pleasant  twilight,  reviewing  the  day's  doings, 
and  wondering  what  happy  day  would  bring 
Uncle  John  back  to  her.  Certainly,  he  would 
find  a  good  deal  of  improvement.  Merton 
had  not  run  away  since  his  experience  in  the 


198  MARGARET    MOJN'TFORT. 

bog ;  Susan  D.  was  won,  and  Basil  grew  more 
and  more  helpful  and  considerate.  More  than 
that,  the  children,  all  three  of  them,  seemed 
to  have  quieted  down  of  their  own  accord. 
At  this  hour,  they  were  generally  shouting 
and  screaming,  racing  over  the  grass,  or 
tumbling  headlong  from  the  trees,  keeping 
Margaret  in  a  constant  state  of  terror,  and 
Cousin  Sophronia  in  one  of  peevish  irri 
tation  and  alarm.  But  now  they  had  gone 
of  their  own  will  to  the  summer-house,  saying 
that  they  were  going  to  tell  stories,  and  see 
how  quiet  they  could  be.  They  were  quiet, 
indeed,  for  she  could  not  even  hear  their 
voices.  Cousin  Sophronia,  coming  out  with 
an  inquiry,  became  instantly  suspicious,  and 
declared  she  must  go  and  see  what  they  were 
about;  but  Margaret  begged  her  to  wait  a 
little.  "  They  can  do  no  harm  in  the  sum 
mer-house  !  "  she  said.  "  And  —  Uncle  John 
thought  we  would  better  let  them  alone  a 
good  deal,  Cousin  Sophronia." 

"  My  love,"  said  the  lady,  seating  herself, 
and  folding  her  hands  for  a  good  talk,  "  your 
Uncle  John  is  a  babe,  simply  a  babe  in  these 


THE    VOICE    OF    FERNLEY.  199 

matters.  Even  if  he  knew  anything  about 
children,  —  which  he  does  not,  —  it  would  be 
my  duty,  my  positive  duty,  to  shield  him  from 
all  anxieties  of  this  kind.  Why  else  did  I 
come  here,  my  love,  except  for  this  very 
thing?" 

"  Did  you,  then,  know  that  Cousin  Anthony 
wished  to  send  the  children  ? "  asked  Mar 
garet,  perhaps  not  without  a  spice  of  gentle 
malice. 

"  Ahem !  No,  not  precisely,  my  love  ! 
But — but  it  was  my  firm  resolve  to  protect 
dearest  John  from  every  species  of  annoy 
ance.  Every  species,  my  dear !  John  Mont- 
fort  —  good  gracious  !  What  is  that  ?  "  She 
started  to  her  feet,  and  Margaret  followed  her 
example.  A  sound  seemed  to  pass  them  in 
the  air ;  a  strange  sound,  something  between 
a  sigh  and  a  moan.  It  swelled  for  a  moment, 
then  died  away  among  the  trees  beyond  the 
verandah.  Miss  Sophronia  clutched  Marga 
ret's  arm.  "  You  —  you  made  that  noise  ?  " 
she  whispered.  "  Say  it  was  you,  Margaret!" 

"Indeed,  it  was  not  I,  Cousin  Sophro 
nia  1 "  said  Margaret.  "  It  must  have  been  a 


200  MARGAHKT    MONTFORT. 

sudden  gust  of  wind.  It  is  gone  now;  it 
must  surely  have  been  the  wind.  Shall  I 
bring  you  a  wrap?  Do  you  feel  chilly?" 

Miss  Sophronia  still  held  her  arm.  "No, 
no  !  Don't  go  !  "  she  said.  "I  —  I  feel  rather 
nervous  to-night,  I  think.  Nerves  !  Yes,  no 
one  knows  what  I  suffer.  If  you  had  any 
idea  what  my  nights  are  —  You  may  be  right, 
my  dear,  about  the  wind.  It  is  a  misfortune, 
I  always  say,  to  have  such  exquisite  sensibility. 
The  expression  is  not  my  own,  my  love,  it  is 
Doctor  Soper's.  Shall  we  go  into  the  house, 
and  light  the  lamps  ?  So  much  more  cheer 
ful,  I  always  think,  than  this  dreary  twilight." 

Margaret  hesitated  a  moment.  The  evening 
was  very  warm,  and  once  in  the  house,  her 
cousin  would  be  sure  to  shut  all  the  windows 
and  draw  the  curtains.  Still,  she  must  not  be 
selfish  — 

"If  I  join  you  in  a  few  minutes,  Cousin 
Sophronia  ? ' '  she  said .  "  The  children — I  sup- 
pose  it  is  time  for  them  to  come  in.  I  will  just 
go  down  to  the  summer-house  and  see  —  " 

The  sentence  remained  unfinished;  for  at 
that  moment,  almost  close  beside  them,  arose 


THE    VOICE    OF    FEKNLEY.  201 

the  strange  moaning  sound  once  more.  This 
time  Miss  Sophronia  shrieked  aloud.  "  Come ! " 
she  cried,  dragging  Margaret  towards  the 
house.  "  Come  in  this  moment !  It  is  the 
Voice  !  The  Voice  of  Fernley.  I  will  not  stay 
here ;  I  will  not  go  in  alone.  Come  with  me, 
Margaret ! " 

She  was  trembling  from  head  to  foot,  and 
even  Margaret,  who  was  not  timid  about  such 
matters,  felt  slightly  disturbed.  Was  this 
some  trick  of  the  children  ?  She  must  go  and 
hunt  them  up,  naughty  little  things.  Ah  ! 
What  was  that,  moving  in  the  dusk  ?  It  was 
almost  entirely  dark  now,  but  something  was 
certainly  coming  up  the  gravel  walk,  some 
thing  that  glimmered  white  against  the  black 
box-hedges.  Miss  Sophronia  uttered  another 
piercing  shriek,  and  would  have  fled,  but 
Margaret  detained  her.  "  Who  is  that  ?  "  said 
the  girl.  "  Basil,  is  that  you  ?  Where  are  the 
other  children  ?  " 

The  white  figure  advanced ;  it  was  tall  and 
slender,  and  seemed  to  have  no  head.  Miss 
Sophronia  moaned,  and  cowered  down  at 
Margaret's  side. 


202  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

"  I  beg  pardon ! "  said  a  deep,  cheerful 
voice.  "  I  hope  nothing  is  wrong.  It  is  only 
I,  Miss  Montfort,  —  Gerald  Merry  weather." 

Only  a  tall  youth  in  white  flannels  ;  yet,  at 
that  moment,  no  one,  save  Uncle  John  him 
self,  could  have  been  more  welcome,  Margaret 
thought.  "  Oh,  Mr.  Merry  weather,"  she  said, 
"  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you  !  No,  nothing  is 
wrong,  I  hope  ;  that  is  —  won't  you  come  up 
on  the  verandah  ?  My  cousin  —  Cousin  So- 
phronia,  let  me  present  Mr.  Merry  weather." 

Mr.  Merryweather  advanced,  bowing  politely 
to  the  darkness  ;  when,  to  his  amazement,  the 
person  to  whom  he  was  to  pay  his  respects 
sprang  forward,  and  clutched  him  violently. 

«  You — you — you  abominable  young  man! " 
cried  Miss  Sophronia,  shrilly.  "You  made 
that  noise ;  you  know  you  made  it,  to 
annoy  me  !  Don't  tell  me  you  did  not !  Get 
away  from  here  this  instant,  you  —  you  — 
impostor !  " 

Margaret  was  struck  dumb  for  an  instant, 
and  before  she  could  speak,  Gerald  Merry- 
weather  was  replying,  quietly,  as  if  he  had 
been  throttled  every  day  of  his  life : 


THE    VOICE    OF   FERNLEY.  203 

"  If  choking  is  your  object,  madam,  you  can 
do  it  better  by  pulling  the  other  way,  I  would 
suggest.  By  pulling  in  this  direction,  you  see, 
you  only  injure  the  textile  fabric,  and  leave 
the  corpus  delicti  comparatively  unharmed." 

He  stood  perfectly  still ;  Miss  Sophronia 
still  clutched  and  shook  him,  muttering  in 
articulately  ;  but  now  Margaret  seized  and 
dragged  her  off  by  main  force.  "Cousin 
Sophronia  !  "  she  cried.  "  How  can  you  — 
what  can  you  be  thinking  of  ?  This  is  Mr. 
Merryweather,  I  tell  you,  the  son  of  Uncle 
John's  old  schoolmate.  Uncle  John  asked 
him  to  call.  I  am  sure  you  are  not  well,  or 
have  made  some  singular  mistake." 

"  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it !  "  said  Miss 
Sophronia.  "  Not  one  single  word !  What  was 
he  making  that  noise  for,  I  should  like  to 
know?" 

Mr.  Merryweather  answered  with  a  calm 
which  he  was  far  from  feeling.  His  pet  neck 
tie  was  probably  ruined,  his  collar  crumpled, 
very  likely  his  coat  torn.  He  had  taken  pains 
with  his  toilet,  and  now  he  had  been  set  upon 
and  harried,  by  some  one  he  had  never  seen, 


204  MARGARET    MOOTFORT. 

but  whom  he  felt  sure  to  be  the  Gorgon  who 
had  glared  at  him  out  the  window  several 
days  before.  This  was  a  horrid  old  lady ;  he 
saw  no  reason  why  he  should  be  attacked  in 
the  night  by  horrid  old  ladies,  when  he  was 
behaving  beautifully. 

"  I  am  sorry  !  "  he  said,  rather  stiffly.  "  I 
was  not  conscious  of  speaking  loud.  Miss 
Montfort  asked  who  it  was,  and  I  told  her. 
If  I  have  offended  her,  I  am  ready  to  apologise 
—  and  withdraw." 

This  sounded  theatrical,  it  occurred  to  him  ; 
but  then,  the  whole  scene  was  fit  for  the 
variety  stage.  Poor  Margaret  felt  a  moment 
of  despair.  What  should  she  do  ? 

"Mr.  Merry  weather,"  she  said,  aloud,  "Miss 
Montfort  has  been  much  startled.  Just  before 
you  came,  we  heard  a  noise ;  rather  a  strange 
noise,  which  we  could  not  account  for.  I  think 
Ker  nerves  are  somewhat  shaken.  She  will  be 
better  in  a  moment.  And  —  and  I  was  just 
going  to  the  summer-house,  to  call  the  children. 
Would  you  come  with  me,  I  wonder  ?  " 

Miss  Sophronia  clamoured  that  she  could  not 
be  left  alone,  but  for  once  Margaret  was  deaf 


THE    VOICE    OF    FEKNLEY.  205 

to  her  appeals.  She  was  too  angry ;  her  guest 
— that  is,  her  uncle's  guest — to  be  set  upon 
and  shaken,  as  if  he  were  a  naughty  child 
caught  stealing  apples, — it  was  too  shameful ! 
He  would  think  they  were  all  out  of  their 
senses. 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  sorry !  So  sorry !  "  she  found 
herself  saying  aloud.  "  Mr.  Merry  weather,  I 
am  so  mortified,  so  ashamed !  What  can  I  say 
to  you?" 

"  Say !  "  said  Gerald,  his  stiffness  gone  in  an 
instant.  "  Don't  say  anything,  Miss  Montfort. 
I  —  I  don't  mean  that;  I  mean,  there's  noth 
ing  to  say,  don't  you  know  ?  Why,  it  wasn't 
your  fault !  Who  ever  thought  of  its  being 
your  fault  ?  " 

"  I  ought  to  have  recognised  you  sooner !  " 
said  Margaret.  "  It  was  pretty  dark,  and  we 
had  really  been  startled,  and  my  cousin  is  very 
nervous.  If  you  would  please  overlook  it  this 
time  I  should  be  so  grateful !  " 

"  Oh,  I  say  !  "  cried  the  young  man.  "  Miss 
Montfort,  if  you  go  on  in  this  way,  I  shall  go 
back  and  ask  the  old  —  and  ask  the  lady  to 
choke  me  some  more.  I  —  I  like  being 


206  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

choked !  I  like  anything ;  only  don't  go  on 
so !  Why,  it  isn't  any  matter  in  the  world. 
Perhaps  it  relieved  her  feelings  a  bit ;  and  it 
didn't  do  me  any  harm."  He  felt  of  his  neck 
tie,  and  settled  his  collar  as  well  as  he  could, 
thankful  for  the  friendly  darkness.  "  Indeed, 
I  am  all  right !  "  he  assured  her,  earnestly. 
"  Trivets  aren't  a  circumstance  to  me,  as  far 
as  rightness  is  concerned.  Now  if  you'll 
forget  all  about  it,  Miss  Montfort,  please,  I 
shall  be  as  happy  as  the  bounding  roe,  —  or 
the  circumflittergating  cockchafer !  "  he  added, 
as  a  large  June-bug  buzzed  past  him. 

•"  You  are  very  good !  "  murmured  Margaret. 
"I  am  sure  —  but  here  is  the  summer-house. 
Children,  are  you  here  ?  Basil !  Susan  D. !  " 

No  answer  came.  The  frogs  chirped  peace 
fully,  the  brook  at  the  foot  of  the  garden  sent 
up  its  soft,  bubbling  murmur ;  there  was  no 
other  sound.  It  was  very  dark,  for  the  trees 
were  thick  overhead.  The  fireflies  flitted 
hither  and  thither,  gleaming  amid  the  thick 
ets  of  honeysuckle  and  lilac ;  the  young 
man's  figure  beside  her  glimmered  faintly 
in  the  darkness,  but  there  was  no  glimpse 


THE    VOICE    OF    FEKNXEY.  207 

of  Susan  D.'s  white  frock,  or  Basil's  white 
head. 

"  Children !  "  cried  Margaret  again.  "  Don't 
play  any  tricks,  dears  !  It  is  bedtime,  and  after, 
and  you  must  come  in.  Susan,  Cousin  wants 
you,  dear ! " 

Silence  ;  not  a  rustle,  not  a  whisper. 

"I  should  suppose  they  had  gone,"  said 
Gerald.  "  Or  do  you  think  they  are  playing 
hookey  ?  Wait  a  minute,  and  I'll  hunt 
around." 

But  search  availed  nothing;  the  children 
were  not  in  the  summer-house,  nor  near  it. 
"  They  must  have  gone  back  to  the  house;" 
said  Margaret.  "Thank  you  so  much,  Mr. 
Merryweather.  I  am  sorry  to  have  given  you 
all  this  trouble  for  nothing." 

"  Oh,  trouble  !  "  said  Gerald.  "  This  isn't 
my  idea  of  trouble,  Miss  Montfort.  What 
a  pretty  place  this  is  !  Awfully  —  I  mean, 
extremely  pretty." 

"It  is  pretty  in  the  daytime.  I  should 
hardly  think  you  could  see  anything  now,  it 
is  so  dark." 

"  Well,  yes,  it  is  dark ;  but  I  mean  it  seems 


208  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

such  a  pleasant  place  to  sit  and  rest  in  a  little. 
Hadn't  you  better  sit  and  rest  a  minute,  Miss 
Montfort?  The  children  are  all  right,  you 
may  be  sure.  Gone  to  bed,  most  likely,  like 
good  little  kids.  I  —  I  often  went  to  bed, 
when  I  was  a  kid." 

Margaret  could  not  help  laughing;  never 
theless,  she  turned  decidedly  towards  the 
house.  "I  am  afraid  I  cannot  be  sure  of 
their  having  gone  to  bed,"  she  said.  "  I  think 
I  must  find  them,  Mr.  Merryweather,  but  if 
you  are  tired,  you  shall  rest  on  the  verandah 
while  I  hunt." 

Gerald  did  not  want  to  rest  on  the  veran 
dah,  particularly  if  his  recent  assailant  were 
still  there.  He  wanted  to  stay  here  in  the  gar 
den.  He  liked  the  fireflies,  and  the  frogs ;  the 
murmur  of  the  brook,  and  the  soft  voice  speak 
ing  out  of  the  darkness.  He  thought  this  was 
a  very  nice  girl ;  he  wished  she  would  not  be 
so  uneasy  about  those  tiresome  youngsters. 
However,  as  there  seemed  to  be  no  help  for 
it,  he  followed  Margaret  in  silence  up  the 
gravel  walk.  She  need  not  hurry  so,  he 
thought;  it  was  very  early,  not  half  past 


THE    VOICE    OF    FERNLEY.  209 

eight  yet.  He  wanted  to  make  his  call ;  he 
couldn't  dress  up  like  this  every  night ;  and, 
besides,  it  was  a  question  whether  he  could 
ever  wear  this  shirt  again  by  daylight. 

Miss  Sophronia  was  not  on  the  verandah. 

"  Will  you  not  come  in  ?  "  asked  Margaret 
at  the  door;  but  Gerald  felt,  rather  than 
heard,  the  uneasiness  in  her  voice,  and  de 
cided,  much  against  his  inclination,  that  it 
would  be  better  manners  to  say  good  night 
and  take  himself  off. 

"  I  think  I  must  be  going,"  he  had  begun 
already,  when,  from  the  open  door  behind 
them,  burst  a  long,  low,  melancholy  wail. 
The  girl  started  violently.  The  young  man 

bent  his  ear  in  swift  attention.     The  voice 

the  cry  —  trembled  on  the  air,  swelled  to  a 
shriek ;  then  died  slowly  away  into  a  dreary 
whisper,  and  was  gone. 

Before  either  of  the  young  people  could 
speak,  the  library  door  was  flung  open,  and 
a  wild  figure  came  flying  out.  Miss  Sophronia 
threw  herself  once  more  upon  Gerald,  and 
clung  to  him  with  the  energy  of  desperation. 
"  My  dear  young  man  !  "  cried  the  distracted 


210  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

lady.  "  Save  me  !  Protect  me  !  I  knew  your 
father !  I  was  at  school  with  your  mother,  — 
Miranda  Cheeiiey.  Save  me,  —  hold  me  !  Do 
not  desert  me  !  You  are  my  only  hope  !  " 

It  was  past  nine  o'clock  when  Gerald  Mer- 
ryweather  finally  took  his  departure.  The 
children  had  been  discovered,  —  in  bed,  and 
apparently  asleep.  Three  neatly  folded  piles 
of  clothes  showed  at  least  that  they  had  gone 
to  bed  in  a  proper  and  reasonable  manner. 
Miss  Sophronia  Montfort  had  finally  been 
quieted,  by  soothing  words  and  promises, 
followed  up  by  hot  malted  milk  and  check- 
erberry  cordial,  the  latter  grimly  administered 
by  Frances,  and  so  strong  that  it  made  the 
poor  lady  sneeze.  Margaret  was  to  sleep  with 
her ;  Gerald  was  to  come  the  next  morning  to 
see  how  she  was ;  meanwhile,  Frances  and 
Elizabeth,  the  latter  badly  frightened,  the 
former  entirely  cool  and  self-possessed,  were 
to  sleep  in  the  front  chamber,  and  be  at  hand 
in  case  of  any  untoward  event. 

There  was  nothing  further  to  be  done  save 
to  shake  hands  warmly  with  Margaret,  submit 
to  an  embrace  from  Miss  Sophronia,  and  go. 


THE    VOICE    OF    FERNLEY.  211 

Mr.  Merryweather  strode  slowly  down  the 
garden  path,  looking  back  now  and  then  at 
the  house,  where  already  the  lights  on  the 
lower  floor  were  being  extinguished  one  by 
one. 

"  That's  a  very  nice  girl !  "  he  murmured. 
"Hildegarde  would  approve  of  that  girl,  I 
know.  But  on  the  other  hand,  my  son,  that 
is  a  horrid  old  lady.  I  should  like  — Jerry, 
my  blessed  infant,  I  should  like —  to  make 
that  old  lady  run !  "  He  turned  for  a  final 
glance  at  the  house;  considered  the  advisa 
bility  of  turning  a  handspring-  remembered 
his  white  flannels,  and,  with  a  bow  to  the 
corner  window,  was  gone  in  the  darkness. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

WHO    DID   IT  ? 

"  FRIGHTENED,  was  she  ? "  said  Mrs.  Peyton. 
"  How  sad !  Margaret,  you  are  not  looking  at 
my  bed-spread.  This  is  the  first  day  I  have 
used  it,  and  I  put  it  on  expressly  for  you. 
What  is  the  use  of  my  having  pretty  things, 
if  no  one  will  look  at  them  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  it  is  very  beautiful ! "  said  Mar 
garet.  "Everything  you  have  is  beautiful, 
Mrs.  Peyton." 

"  It  is  Honiton  !  "  said  Mrs.  Peyton.  "  It 
ought  to  be  handsome.  But  you  do  not  care, 
Margaret,  it  is  perfectly  easy  to  see  that.  You 
don't  care  about  any  of  my  things  any  more. 
I  was  simply  a  new  toy  to  you  in  the  begin 
ning,  and  you  liked  to  look  at  me  because  I 
was  pretty.  Now  you  have  new  toys,  —  So- 
phronia  Montfort,  I  suppose,  and  a  sweet  play 
thing  she  is  !  and  you  pay  no  further  attention 
to  me.  Deny  it  if  you  can  !  " 

212 


WHO    DID    IT  ?  213 

Margaret  did  not  attempt  to  deny  it ;  she 
was  too  absolutely  truthful  not  to  feel  a 
certain  grain  of  fact  in  the  lady's  accusation. 
Life  was  opening  fuller  and  broader  upon  her 
every  day ;  how  could  she  think  of  lace  bed 
spreads,  with  three  children  constantly  in  her 
mind,  to  think  and  plan  and  puzzle  for  ?  To 
say  nothing  of  Uncle  John  and  all  the  rest. 
And  as  to  the  "  new  toy  "  aspect,  Margaret 
knew  that  she  might  well  enough  turn  the 
accusation  upon  her  lovely  friend  herself ;  but 
this  she  was  too  kind  and  too  compassionate 
to  do.  Would  not  any  one  want  toys,  perhaps, 
if  forced  to  spend  one's  life  between  four 
walls  ? 

So  she  simply  stroked  the  exquisite  hand 
that  lay  like  a  piece  of  carved  ivory  on  the 
splendid  coverlet,  and  smiled,  and  waited  for 
the  next  remark. 

"  I  knew  you  would  not  deny  it !  "  the  lady 
said.  "  You  couldn't,  you  see.  Well,  it  doesn't 
matter  !  I  shall  be  dead  some  day,  I  hope  and 
trust.  So  Sophronia  was  frightened  ?  Tell  me 
more  about  it !  " 

"  She  was   very   much   frightened !  "   said 


214  MARGARET   MONTFORT. 

Margaret.  "  Mrs.  Peyton,  I  wanted  to  ask 
you  —  when  the  children  came  home  yester 
day,  they  said  something  about  your  having 
told  them  some  story  of  old  times  here ;  of  a 
ghost,  or. some  such  thing.  I  never  heard  of 
anything  of  the  sort.  Do  you  —  do  you  re 
member  what  it  was  ?  I  ought  not  to  torment 
you  !  "  she  added,  remorsefully  ;  for  Mrs. 
Peyton  put  her  hand  to  her  head,  and  her 
brow  contracted  slightly,  as  if  with  pain. 

"  Only  my  head,  dear,  it  is  rather  troublesome 
to-day ;  I  suppose  I  ought  not  to  talk  very 
much  !  Yes,  there  was  a  ghost,  or  something 
like  one,  in  old  times,  when  I  was  a  child.  I 
wasn't  at  Fernley  at  the  time,  but  I  heard 
about  it ;  Sophronia  was  there,  and  I  remem 
ber  she  was  frightened  into  fits,  just  as  you 
describe  her  last  night." 

"  What  —  do  you  remember  anything  about 
it  ?  It  isn't  that  old  story  of  Hugo  Montfort, 
is  it,  the  man  who  looks  for  papers  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  nothing  so  interesting  as  that !  I 
always  longed  to  see  Hugo.  No,  this  is  just  a 
voice  that  comes  and  goes,  wails  about  the 
rooms  and  the  gardens.  It  is  one  of  the 


WHO    DID    IT  ?  215 

Montfort  women,  I  believe,  the  one  who  cut 
up  her  wedding-gown  and  then  went  mad." 

"  Penelope  ?  " 

"  That's  it !  Penelope  Montfort.  Once  in 
a  while  they  see  her,  but  very  rarely,  I  believe. " 

"  Mrs.  Peyton,  you  are  making  fun  of  me. 
Aunt  Faith  told  me  there  was  no  ghost  except 
that  of  Hugo  Montfort ;  of  course  I  don't  mean 
that  there  is  really  that ;  but  no  ghost  that 
people  had  ever  fancied." 

"Ah,  well,  my  dear,  all  this  was  before 
Mrs.  Cheriton  came  to  Fernley  !  Before  such 
a  piece  of  perfection  as  she  was,  no  wandering 
ghost  would  have  ventured  to  appear.  Now 
don't  stiffen  into  stone,  Margaret  Montfort !  I 
know  she  was  a  saint,  but  she  never  liked  me, 
and  I  am  not  a  saint,  you  see.  I  was  always 
a  sinner,  and  I  expect  to  remain  one.  And 
certainly,  there  was  a  white  figure  seen  about 
Fernley,  at  that  time  I  was  speaking  of ;  and 
no  one  ever  found  out  what  it  was  ;  and  if  you 
want  to  know  any  more,  you  must  ask  John 
Montfort.  There,  now  my  head  is  confused, 
and  I  shall  not  have  a  straight  thought  again 
to-day !  " 


216  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

The  lady  turned  her  head  fretfully  on  the 
pillow.  Margaret,  who  knew  her  ways  well, 
sat  silent  for  some  minutes,  and  then  began  to 
sing  softly : 

O  sweetest  lady  ever  seen, 

(With  a  heigh  ho  !  and  a  lily  gay,) 

Give  consent  to  be  my  queen, 

(As  the  primrose  spreads  so  sweetly.) 

Before  the  long  ballad  was  ended,  the  line 
between  Mrs.  Peyton's  eyebrows  was  gone, 
and  her  beautiful  face  wore  a  look  of  content 
ment  that  was  not  common  to  it. 

"  Go  away  now  !  "  the  lady  murmured. 
"You  have  straightened  me  out  again.  Be 
thankful  for  that  little  silver  voice  of  yours, 
child  !  You  can  do  more  good  with  it  in  the 
world  than  you  know.  I  really  think  you  are 
one  of  the  few  good  persons  who  are  not 
odious.  Go  now !  Good-bye  !  " 

Margaret  went  away,  thinking,  as  she  had 
often  thought  before,  how  like  her  Cousin  Rita 
this  fair  lady  was.  "  Only  Rita  has  a  great, 
great  deal  more  heart ! "  she  said  to  herself. 
"Rita  only  laughs  at  people  when  she  is  in 


WHO    DID    IT  ?  217 

one  of  her  bad  moods.  Dear  Rita !  I  wonder 
where  she  is  to-day.  And  Peggy  is  driving 
the  mowing  machine,  she  writes ;  mowing 
hundreds  of  acres,  and  riding  bareback,  and 
having  a  glorious  time." 

A  letter  had  come  the  day  before  from 
Peggy  Montfort,  telling  of  all  her  delightful 
doings  on  the  farm,  and  begging  that  her 
darling  Margaret  would  come  out  and  spend 
the  rest  of  the  summer  with  her.  "Darling 
Margaret,  do,  do,  do  come !  Nobody  can  pos 
sibly  want  you  as  much  as  I  do ;  nobody  can 
begin  to  think  of  wanting  you  one  hundredth 
part  as  much  as  your  own  Peggy." 

Margaret  had  laughed  over  the  letter,  and 
kissed  it,  and  perhaps  there  was  a  tear  in  her 
eye  when  she  put  it  away  to  answer.  It  was 
good,  good  to  be  loved.  And  Peggy  did  love 
her,  and  so  she  hoped  —  she  knew  —  did 
Uncle  John ;  and  now  the  children  were 
hers,  two  of  them,  at  least ;  hers  to  have 
and  to  hold,  so  far  as  love  went.  Go  away 
and  leave  them  now,  when  they  needed  her 
every  hour  ?  "  No,  Peggy  dear,  not  even  to 
see  your  sweet,  round,  honest  face  again." 


218  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

Coming  back  to  the  house  she  found  Gerald 
Merryweather  on  the  verandah.  He  was  in 
his  working  clothes  again,  but  they  were 
fresh  and  spotless,  and  he  was  a  pleasant 
object  to  look  upon.  He  explained  that  he 
had  called  to  inquire  for  the  ladies'  health, 
and  to  express  his  hope  that  they  had  suffered 
no  further  annoyance  the  night  before.  He 
was  on  his  way  to  the  bog,  and  just  thought 
he  would  ask  if  there  was  anything  he  could 
do. 

"  Thank  you!"  said  Margaret,  gratefully. 
"  You  are  very  good,  Mr.  Merryweather.  No ; 
nothing  more  happened ;  and  my  poor  cousin 
got  some  sleep  after  awhile.  But  I  still  can 
not  imagine  what  the  noise  was,  can  you  ? " 

"  So  many  noises  at  night,  don't  you 
know?"  said  Gerald.  "Especially  round 
an  old  house  like  this.  You  were  not  per 
sonally  alarmed,  were  you,  Miss  Montfort  ? " 
I  think  you  may  be  pretty  sure  that  there 
was  nothing  supernatural  about  it.  Oh,  I 
don't  mean  anything  in  particular,  of  course ; 
but  —  well,  I  never  saw  a  ghost,  and  I  don't 
believe  in  'em.  Do  you  ?  " 


WHO    DID    IT?  219 

"  Certainly  not.  I  didn't  suppose  any  one 
believed  in  them  nowadays.  But, —  do  you 
know,  I  really  am  almost  afraid  my  Cousin 
Sophronia  does.  She  will  not  listen  to  any 
explanation  I  can  suggest.  I  really  —  oh, 
here  she  is,  Mr.  Merry  weather !  " 

Miss  Sophronia  greeted  Gerald  with  effu 
sion.  "I  heard  your  voice,  my  dear  young 
man,"  she  said,  "and  I  came  down  to  beg 
that  you  would  take  tea  with  us  this  evening 
—  with  my  niece  —  she  is  quite  the  same  as 
my  own  niece ;  I  make  no  difference,  dearest 
Margaret,  I  assure  you,  —  with  my  niece  and 
me.  If  —  if  there  should  be  any  more  un 
pleasant  occurrences,  it  would  be  a  comfort 
to  have  a  man,  however  young,  on  the  prem 
ises.  Willis  sleeps  in  the  barn,  and  he  is 
deaf,  and  would  be  of  little  use.  He  couldn't 
even  be  of  the  smallest  use,  if  we  should  be 
murdered  in  our  beds." 

"  Oh,  but  we  are  not  going  to  be  murdered, 
Cousin  Sophronia,"  said  Margaret,  lightly. 
"We  are  going  to  be  very  courageous,  and 
just  let  that  noise  understand  that  we  care 
nothing  whatever  about  it." 


220  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

"Margaret,  my  love,  you  are  trivial/'  re 
sponded  Miss  Sophronia,  peevishly.  "  I  wish 
you  would  pay  attention  when  I  speak.  I 
ask  Mr.  Merryweather  to  take  tea  with  us, 
and  you  talk  about  noises.  Very  singular,  I 


am  sure." 


"Oh,  but  of  course  it  would  be  very 
pleasant,  indeed,  to  have  Mr.  Merryweather 
take  tea  with  us ! "  cried  Margaret,  in  some 
confusion.  "I  hope  you  will  come,  Mr. 
Merryweather." 

It  appeared  that  nothing  in  the  habitable 
universe  would  give  Mr.  Merryweather  greater 
pleasure.  At  half -past  six?  He  would  not 
fail  to  be  on  hand;  and  if  there  should  be 
noises  again,  why  —  let  those  who  made  them 
look  to  themselves.  And,  with  this,  the 
young  man  took  his  leave. 

The  children  were  very  troublesome  that 
day.  Margaret  could  not  seem  to  lay  her 
hand  on  any  one  of  them.  If  she  called 
Basil,  he  was  "  in  the  barn,  Cousin  Margaret, 
helping  Willis  with  the  hay.  Of  course  I'll 
come,  if  you  want  me,  but  Willis  seems  to 
need  me  a  good  deal,  if  you  don't  mind." 


WHO    DID    IT  ?  221 

When  it  was  time  for  Susan  D.'s  sewing, 
the  child  came  most  obediently  and  affection 
ately  ;  but  her  thimble  was  nowhere  to  be 
found,  and  she  had  mislaid  her  spool,  and, 
finally,  when  everything  was  found,  she  had 
not  sat  still  ten  minutes,  when  she  was  "  so 
thirsty;  and  must  go  and  get  a  glass  of 
water,  please,  Cousin  Margaret ! " 

"Susan,"  said  Margaret,  "I  want  to  talk 
to  you,  and  I  cannot  seem  to  get  a  chance  for 
a  word.  Sit  still  now,  like  a  good  little  girl, 
and  tell  me  —  " 

"  Yes,  Cousin  Margaret,  I  couldn't  find  my 
thimble  first,  you  see ;  and  then  there  wasn't 
any  spool,  and  I  left  it  in  my  basket  yester 
day,  I'm  sure  I  did,  but  Merton  will  take  it  to 
teach  the  kitten  tricks  with,  and  then  it  gets 
all  dirty.  Don't  you  know  how  horrid  a 
spool  is  when  a  kitten  has  been  playing  with 
it  ?  You  have  to  wind  off  yards  and  yards, 
and  then  the  rest  is  sort  of  fruzzly,  and  keeps 
making  knots." 

"Yes,  I  know.  Susan  D.,  what  were  you 
doing  last  evening  ?  "  said  Margaret. 

"  Last  evening  ? "  repeated  the  child.     "  We 


222  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

were  in  the  summer-house,  Cousin  Margaret. 
We  were  playing  Scottish  Chiefs,  don't  you 
know?  Merton  had  to  play  Lord  Soulis, 
'cause  he  drew  the  short  straw;  but  he  got 
cross,  and  wouldn't  play  good  a  bit." 

"Wouldn't  play  wdl,  or  nicely"  corrected 
Margaret.  "  But  after  that,  Susan  dear  ?" 

"That  took  a  long  time,"  said  the  child. 
It  seemed,  when  she  was  alone  with  Marga 
ret,  that  she  could  not  talk  enough ;  the  little 
pent-up  nature  was  finding  most  delightful 
relief  and  pleasure  in  unfolding  before  the 
sympathy  that  was  always  warm,  always 
ready. 

"  You  see,  when  it  came  to  carrying  me  off 
(I  was  Helen  Mar,  after  I'd  been  Marion  and 
was  dead),  Merton  was  just  horrid.  He  said 
he  wouldn't  carry  me  off ;  he  said  he  wouldn't 
have  me  for  a  gift,  and  called  me  Scratch- 
face,  and  all  kinds  of  names.  And  of  course 
Lord  Soulis  wouldn't  have  talked  that  way ; 
so  Wallace  (of  course  Basil  had  to  be  Wallace 
when  he  drew  the  long  straw,  and  he  never 
cheats,  though  Merton  does,  whenever  he  gets 
a  chance) — well,  and  so,  Wallace  told  him, 


WHO    DID    IT  ?  223 

if  he  didn't  carry  me  off  in  two  shakes  of  a 
cat's  tail  —  " 

"  Susan  D. !  " 

"  Well,  that's  what  he  said,  Cousin  Marga 
ret.  I'm  telling  you  just  as  it  happened, 
truly  I  am.  If  he  didn't  carry  me  off  in  two 
shakes  of  a  cat's  tail,  he'd  pitch  him  over  the 
parapet,  —  you  know  there's  a  splendid  para 
pet  in  the  summer-house, —  and  so  he  wouldn't, 
and  so  he  did ;  but  Mert  held  on,  and  they 
both  went  over  into  the  meadow.  I  guess 
Lord  Soulis  got  the  worst  of  it  down  there, 
for  when  they  climbed  up  again  he  did  carry 
me  off,  though  he  pinched  me  hard  all  the  way, 
and  made  my  arm  all  black  and  blue ;  I  didn't 
say  anything,  because  I  was  Helen  Mar,  but  I 
gave  it  to  him  good  —  I  mean  well  —  this 
morning,  and  served  him  out.  And  then 
Wallace  had  to  rescue  me,  of  course,  and  that 
was  great,  and  we  all  fell  over  the  parapet 
again,  and  that  was  the  way  I  tore  the  gath 
ers  out  of  my  frock.  So  you  see,  Cousin 
Margaret !  " 

Susan  D.  paused  for  breath,  and  bent  over 
her  sewing  with  exemplary  diligence.      Mar- 


224  MAKGARET    MONTFORT. 

garet  took  the  child's  chin  in  her  hand,  and 
raised  her  face  towards  her. 

"  Susan/'  she  said,  gently,  "  after  you  had 
that  fine  play  —  it  must  have  been  a  great 
play,  and  I  wish  I  had  seen  it  —  after  that, 
what  did  you  do  ?  " 

«  We  —  we  —  went  to  bed !  "  said  Susan  D. 

"  Why  did  you  go  without  coming  to 
say  good  night  ?  Answer  me  truly,  dear 
child." 

The  two  pairs  of  gray  eyes  looked  straight 
into  each  other.  A  shadow  of  fear  —  a  sug 
gestion  of  the  old  look  of  distrust  and  sus 
picion  —  crept  into  the  child's  eyes  for  a 
moment;  but  before  Margaret's  kind,  firm, 
loving  gaze  it  vanished  and  was  gone.  A 
wave  of  colour  swept  over  her  face ;  her  eyes 
wavered,  gave  one  imploring  glance,  and 
fell. 

"  Aren't  you  going  to  tell  me,  Susan  D.  ?" 
asked  Margaret  once  more. 

«N  —  no!"  said  Susan  D.,  in  a  whisper 
scarcely  audible. 

"  No  ?     And  why  not,  dear  child  ?  " 

"  I  promised !  "  whispered  Susan  D. 


WHO    DID    IT?  225 

"  Susan  D.,  do  you  know  anything  about 
that  strange  noise  that  frightened  us  so  last 
night?" 

But  not  another  word  would  Susan  D.  say. 
She  looked  loving,  imploring,  deprecating; 
she  threw  her  arms  around  Margaret's  neck, 
and  hid  her  face  and  clung  to  her;  but  no 
word  could  she  be  brought  to  say.  At  last 
Margaret,  displeased  and  puzzled,  felt  con 
strained  to  tell  the  child  rather  sternly  to  fold 
her  work  and  go  away,  and  not  come  back  to 
her  till  she  could  answer  questions  properly. 
Susan  went  obediently ;  at  the  door  she  hesi 
tated,  and  Margaret  heard  a  little  sigh,  which 
made  her  heart  go  out  in  sympathy  toward 
the  little  creature.  Instantly  she  rose,  and, 
going  to  the  child,  put  her  arms  round  her 
affectionately. 

"Darling,  I  think  you  are  puzzled  about 
something,"  she  said,  quickly.  Susan  D.  nod 
ded,  and  clung  close  to  her  cousin's  side. 

"  I  will  not  ask  you  anything  more,"  said 
Margaret.  "  I  am  going  to  trust  you,  Susan 
D.,  not  to  do  anything  wrong.  Remember, 
dear,  that  the  two  most  important  things  in 


226  MARGARET   MONTFORT. 

the  world  are  truth  and  kindness.     Now  kiss 
me,  dear,  and  go." 

Left  alone,  Margaret  sat  for  some  time, 
puzzling  over  what  had  happened,  and  won 
dering  what  would  happen  next.  It  was  evi 
dent  that  the  children  were  concerned  in  some 
way,  or  at  least  had  some  knowledge,  of  the 
mysterious  sounds  which  had  so  alarmed 
Miss  Sophronia.  What  ought  she  to  do  ? 
How  far  must  she  try  to  force  confession  from 
them,  if  it  were  her  duty  to  try;  and  how 
could  she  do  it  ? 

Thus  pondering,  she  became  aware  of  voices 
in  the  air ;  she  sat  near  the  open  window,  and 
the  voices  were  from  above  her.  The  nurs 
ery  window!  She  listened,  bending  nearer, 
and  holding  her  breath. 

"  Well,  if  you  back  out  now,  Susan  D.,  it 
will  be  mean  !  "  Basil  was  saying.  "  What 
did  you  say  to  her?" 

"I  didn't  say  anything!"  Susan  D.  an 
swered,  sullenly. 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  her  that  we  had  a 
pain,  and  didn't  want  to  bother  her,  'cause 
she  had  company?"  cried  Merton,  eagerly. 


WHO   DIB   IT?  227 

"I  had  that  all  fixed  to  tell  her,  only  she 
never  asked  me." 

"  I  wouldn't  tell  her  a  lie,"  said  Susan  D. 
"Basil,  you  wouldn't  tell  her  a  lie,  either, 
you  know  you  wouldn't,  when  she  looks  at 
you  that  way,  straight  at  you,  and  you  can't 
get  your  eyes  away." 

"  Of  course  I  wouldn't,"  said  Basil.  «  And 
the  reason  she  didn't  ask  you,  Merton,  was 
because  she  knew  it  wouldn't  make  much  dif 
ference  what  you  said.  That's  the  trouble 
about  you.  But  now,  Susan,  if  you  had  only 
had  a  little  dipplo-macy,  you  could  have  got 
through  all  right,  as  I  did." 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  dipplo- 
macy,"  retorted  Susan. 

"  Ho,  stupid  !  "  sneered  Merton. 

"I  don't  believe  you  know  what  it  means 
yourself !  "  cried  Basil.  «  Come,  tell  now,  if 
you  are  so  wise.  What  does  it  mean  ?  Ah, 
I  knew  you  didn't  know  !  You  are  a  sneak, 
Mert !  Well,  I  guess  in  the  beginning,  when 
Adam  was  making  the  words,  you  know,  he 
must  have  wanted  to  hide  from  the  serpent  or 
something  —  perhaps  a  hairy  mammoth,  or  a 


228  MARGARET   MONTFORT. 

megatherium,  I  shouldn't  wonder,  —  so  he 
said,  '  Dip  low,'  and  then  '  Massy ! '  for  a 
kind  of  exclamation,  you  see.  And  spelling 
gets  changed  a  lot  in  the  course  of  time ;  you 
can  see  that  just  from  one  class  to  another  in 
the  grammar  school.  Well,  anyhow,  it  means 
a  sort  of  getting  round  things,  managing 
them,  without  telling  lies,  or  truth  either." 

"You've  got  to  tell  one  or  the  other," 
objected  Susan  D. 

"  No,  you  haven't,  either !  Now,  how  did  I 
manage  ?  I  have  just  kept  out  of  Cousin 
Margaret's  way  all  day,  so  far,  and  I'm  going 
to  keep  out  the  rest  of  it.  I've  been  helping 
Willis  ever  since  breakfast,  and  he  says  I 
really  helped  him  a  great  deal,  and  I'll  make 
a  farmer  yet ;  only  I  won't,  'cause  I'm  going 
into  the  navy.  And  now  pretty  soon  I'm 
going  in,  in  a  tearing  hurry,  and  ask  her  if  I 
can  take  some  lunch  and  go  over  to  see  Mr. 
Merryweather  at  the  bog,  'cause  he  is  going  to 
give  me  a  lesson  in  surveying.  He  is  ;  he  said 
he  would,  any  time  I  came  over.  And  so, 
you  see  —  " 

"  That's  all  very  well,"  interrupted  Merton, 


WHO    DID    IT?  229 

scornfully.  "  But  when  it  comes  night,  what'll 
you  do  then,  I  should  like  to  know  ?  " 

"Easy  enough.  I  shall  have  a  headache, 
and  she  won't  ask  me  questions  when  I  have 
a  headache;  she'll  just  sit  and  stroke  my 
head,  and  put  me  to  sleep." 

"Ho!  How'll  you  get  your  headache  ?  Have 
to  tell  a  lie  then,  I  guess." 

"  No,  sir,  I  won't !  And  if  you  say  that 
again,  I'll  bunt  you  up  against  the  wall.  Easy 
enough  to  get  a  headache.  I  don't  know 
whether  I  shall  eat  hot  doughnuts,  or  just 
ram  my  head  against  the"  horse-chestnut-tree 
till  it  aches;  but  I'll  get  the  headache,  you 
may  bet  your  boots  —  " 

"  Basil,  she  asked  you  not  to  say  that,  and 
you  said  you  wouldn't." 

"  Well,  I'm  sorry ;  I  didn't  mean  to.  Pull 
out  a  hair,  Susan  D.,  and  then  I  shall  remem 
ber  next  time.  Ouch !  You  pulled  out  two." 

"  I  say,  come  on !  "  cried  Merton.  "  We've 
got  lots  of  things  to  see  to.  We  have  to  —  " 

The  voices  were  gone.  Margaret  sat  still, 
sewing  steadily,  and  working  many  thoughts 
into  her  seam. 


230  MARGARET   MONTFORT. 

It  might  have  been  half  an  hour  after  this 
that  Basil  burst  into  the  room,  breathless  and 
beaming,  his  tow-colored  hair  standing  on  end. 
"  Oh,  Cousin  Margaret,  can  I  —  I  mean  may 
I,  go  over  to  the  bog  ?  Mr.  Merry  weather  said 
he  would  give  me  a  lesson  in  surveying ;  and 
Frances  is  going  to  put  me  up  some  luncheon, 
and  I'm  in  a  norful  hurry.  May  I  go,  please  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Basil ;  you  may  go  after  you  have 
answered  me  one  question." 

"  Yes,  Cousin  Margaret,"  said  the  diplomat. 
"  I  may  miss  Mr.  Merry  weather  if  I  don't  go 
pretty  quick,  but  of  course  I  will." 

"Basil,  did  you  make  that  strange  noise 
last  night  ?  " 

"  No,  Cousin  Margaret !  "  cried  the  boy ;  the 
smile  seemed  to  break  from  every  corner  of 
his  face  at  once,  and  his  eyes  looked  straight 
truth  into  hers.  "  I  did  not.  Is  that  all  ? 
You  said  one  question  !  Thank  you  ever  and 
ever  so  much !  Good-bye  !  "  And  he  was  gone. 

"It  is  quite  evident  that  I  am  not  a  dipplo- 
mat,"  said  Margaret,  with  a  laugh  that  ended 
in  a  sigh.  "  I  wish  Uncle  John  would  come 
home ! " 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

BLACK   SPIRITS   AND    WHITE. 

THE  evening  fell  close  and  hot.  Gerald 
Merryweather,  taking  his  way  to  Fernley 
House,  noticed  the  great  white  thunder-heads 
peering  above  the  eastern  horizon.  "  There'll 
be  trouble  by  and  by,"  he  said. 

"  I  wonder,  oh,  I  wonder, 
If  they're  afraid  of  thunder. 

"  Ever  lapsing  into  immortal  verse,  my  son. 
You  are  the  Lost  Pleiad  of  Literature,  that's 
what  you  are ;  and  a  mighty  neat  phrase  that 
is.  Oh,  my  Philly,  why  aren't  you  here,  to 
take  notice  of  my  coruscations  ?  Full  many  a 
squib  is  born  to  blaze  unseen,  and  waste  its 
fizzing  —  Hello,  you,  sir  !  Stop  a  minute,  will 
you?" 

A  small  boy  was  scudding  along  the  path 
before  him.     He  .turned  his  head,  but  on  see- 


231 


232  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

ing  Gerald  he  only  doubled  his  rate  of  speed. 
Merton  was  a  good  runner  for  his  size,  but  it 
was  ill  trying  to  race  the  Gambolling  Grey 
hound,  as  Gerald  had  been  called  at  school. 
Two  or  three  quick  steps,  two  or  three  long, 
lopping  bounds,  and  Master  Merton  was 
caught,  clutched  by  the  collar,  and  held  aloft, 
wriggling  and  protesting. 

"  You  let  me  go  !  "  whined  Merton.  "  Oh, 
please  Mr.  Merry  weather,  don't  stop  me  now. 
It's  very  important,  indeed,  it  is." 

"  Just  what  I  was  thinking,"  said  Gerald. 
"  We'll  go  along  together,  my  son.  I  wouldn't 
squirm,  if  I  were  you ;  destructive  to  the 
collar ;  believe  one  who  has  suffered.  What ! 
it  is  not  so  many  years.  Take  courage,  small 
cat,  and  strive  no  more  !  " 

Merton,  after  one  heroic  wriggle,  gave  up 
the  battle,  and  walked  beside  his  captor  in 
sullen  silence. 

"  Come  !  "  said  Gerald.  "  Let  us  be  merry, 
my  son.  As  to  that  noise,  now !  " 

"  What  noise  ?  "  asked  Merton,  peevishly. 

"  The  roarer,  my  charmer.  Why  beat  about 
the  bush  ?  You  frightened  the  old  —  that  is, 


BLACK   SPIRITS   AND   WHITE.  233 

you  alarmed  both  your  cousins,  with  the  joyful 
instrument  known  among  the  profane  as  a 
roarer.  Tush!  Why  attempt  concealment? 
Have  I  not  roared,  when  time  was  ?  And  a 
very  pretty  amusement,  I  could  never  deny ; 
but  I  wouldn't  try  it  again,  that's  all.  You 
hear,  young  sir  ?  I  wouldn't  try  it  again." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  —  "  Merton 
began;  but  at  this  Gerald  lifted  him  gently 
from  the  ground  by  his  shirt-collar,  and,  wav 
ing  him  about,  intimated  gently  that  it  would 
not  be  good  for  his  health  to  tell  lies. 

"  Well,  I  didn't  do  it,  anyhow ! "  Merton 
protested.  "  Honest,  I  did  not." 

"  Honesty  is  not  written  in  your  expressive 
countenance,  Master  Merton  Montfort,"  said 
Gerald.  "  However,  it  may  be  so.  We  shall 
see.  Meantime,  young  fellow,  and  merely  as 
between  man  and  man,  you  understand,  it 
would  be  money  in  your  youthful  pocket  if 
you  could  acquire  the  habit  of  looking  a 
person  in  the  eyes,  and  not  directing  that 
cherubic  gaze  at  the  waistcoat  buttons,  or 
even  the  necktie,  of  your  in-ter-loc-utor. 
Now,  here  we  are  at  the  house,  and  you  may 


234  MARGARET   MONTFORT. 

go,  my  interesting  popinjay.  Bear  in  mind 
that  my  eye  is  upon  you.  Adieu !  adieu  ! 
Krrrrememberrrr  me  !  !  !  " 

Gerald  put  such  dramatic  fervour  into  this 
farewell  that  Merton  was  as  heartily  fright 
ened  as  he  could  have  desired,  and  scurried 
away  without  stopping  to  look  behind. 

"  That's  not  such  a  very  nice  little  boy,  I 
believe,"  said  Gerald.  "  T'other  one  is  worth 
a  cool  dozen  of  Master  Merton.  Well,  they 
won't  do  much  mischief  while  I  am  to  the 
fore.  Though  I  should  be  loth  to  interfere 
with  the  end  they  probably  have  in  view.  I 
should  like  full  well  myself  to  make  that  — 
Ah,  good  evening,  Miss  Montfort !  " 

It  was  so  hot  after  tea,  that  even  Miss 
Sophronia  made  no  suggestion  of  sitting  in 
the  house.  They  all  assembled  on  the 
verandah,  which  faced  south,  so  that  gen 
erally  here,  if  anywhere,  a  breath  of  evening 
coolness  might  be  had.  To-night,  however, 
no  such  breath  was  to  be  felt.  The  thunder- 
heads  had  crept  up,  up,  half-way  across  the 
sky ;  their  snowy  white  had  changed  to  black- 


BLACK   SPIRITS   AND   WHITE.  235 

ish  blue ;  and  now  and  again,  there  opened 
here  or  there  what  looked  like  a  deep  cavern, 
filled  with  lurid  flame ;  and  then  would  follow 
a  long,  rolling  murmur,  dying  away  into  faint 
mutterings  and  losing  itself  among  the  tree- 
tops. 

Miss  Sophronia  was  very  uneasy.  At  one 
moment  she  declared  she  must  go  into  the 
house,  she  could  not  endure  this ;  the  next 
she  vowed  she  would  rather  see  the  danger  as 
it  came,  and  she  would  never  desert  the 
others,  never. 

"  Do  you  think  there  is  danger,  my  dear 
young  man  ?"  she  asked,  for  perhaps  the  tenth 
time. 

"  Why,  no !  "  said  Gerald.  "  No  more  than 
usual,  Miss  Montfort.  These  trees,  you  see, 
are  a  great  protection.  If  the  lightning 
strikes  one  of  them,  of  course  it  will  divert 
the  fluid  from  the  house.  If  you  have  no 
iron  about  your  person  —  " 

But  here  Miss  Sophronia  interrupted  him. 
She  begged  to  be  excused  for  a  moment,  and 
went  into  the  house.  When  she  returned, 
her  head  was  enveloped  in  what  looked  like 


236  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

a  "tidy"  of  purple  wool,  while  her  feet  were 
shuffling  along  in  a  pair  of  blue  knitted 
slippers. 

"  There  !  "  she  said,  "  I  have  removed  every 
atom  of  metal,  my  dear  young  man,  down  to 
my  hairpins,  I  assure  you ;  and  there  were 
nails  in  my  shoes,  Margaret.  My  dear,  I 
advise  you  to  follow  my  example.  So  impor 
tant,  I  always  say,  to  obey  the  dictates  of 
science.  I  shall  always  consider  it  a  special 
providence  that  sent  this  dear  young  man 
to  us  at  this  trying  time.  Go  at  once, 
dearest  Margaret,  I  implore  you." 

But  Margaret  refused  to  adopt  any  such 
measures  of  precaution.  She  was  enjoying 
the  slow  oncoming  of  the  storm;  she  had 
seldom  seen  anything  more  beautiful,  she 
thought,  and  Gerald  agreed  with  her.  He 
was  sitting  near  her,  and  had  taken  Merton 
on  his  knee,  to  that  young  gentleman's  mani 
fest  discomposure.  He  wriggled  now  and 
then,  and  muttered  some  excuse  for  getting 
down,  but  Gerald  blandly  assured  him  each 
time  that  he  was  not  inconveniencing  him  in 
the  least,  and  begged  him  to  make  himself 


BLACK    SPIRITS    AND    WHITE.  237 

comfortable,  and  entirely  at  home.  Mean 
time,  Margaret  had  called  Basil  and  Susan 
D.  to  her  side,  and  was  holding  a  hand  of 
each,  calling  upon  them  from  time  to  time 
to  see  the  wonderful  beauty  of  the  approach 
ing  storm.  They  responded  readily  enough, 
and  were  really  interested  and  impressed. 
Once  or  twice,  it  is  true,  Basil  stole  a  glance 
at  his  sister,  and  generally  found  her  looking 
at  him  in  a  puzzled,  inquiring  fashion ;  then 
he  would  shake  his  head  slightly,  and  give 
himself  up  once  more  to  watching  the  sky. 
It  was  a  very  extraordinary  sky.  The 
clouds,  now  deep  purple,  covered  it  almost 
from  east  to  west ;  only  low  down  in  the 
west  a  band  of  angry  orange  still  lingered, 
and  added  to  the  sinister  beauty  of  the  scene. 
The  red  caverns  opened  deeper  and  brighter, 
and  now  and  again  a  long,  zigzag  flash  of  gold 
stood  out  for  an  instant  against  the  black, 
and  following  it  came  crack  upon  crack  of 
thunder,  rolling  and  rumbling  over  their 
heads.  But  still  the  air  hung  close  and 
heavy,  still  there  was  no  breath  of  wind,  no 
drop  of  rain. 


238  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

Sitting  thus,  and  for  the  moment  silent, 
there  came,  in  a  pause  of  the  thunder,  a 
new  sound ;  a  sound  that  some  of  them,  at 
least,  knew  well.  Close  at  hand,  rising  ap 
parently  from  the  very  wall  at  their  side, 
came  the  long,  eerie  wail  of  the  night  be 
fore.  Louder  and  louder  it  swelled,  till  it 
rang  like  a  shriek  in  their  ears,  then  suddenly 
it  broke  and  shuddered  itself  away,  till  only 
the  ghost  of  a  sound  crept  from  their  ears, 
and  was  lost.  Margaret  and  Gerald  both 
sprang  to  their  feet,  the  girl  held  the  chil 
dren's  hands  fast  in  hers,  the  lad  clutched  the 
boy  in  his  arms  till  he  whimpered  and  cried ; 
their  eyes  met,  full  of  inquiry,  the  same 
thought  flashing  from  blue  eyes  and  gray. 
Not  the  children?  What,  then?  Before 
Gerald  could  speak,  Miss  Sophronia  was 
clinging  to  him  again,  shrieking  and  cry 
ing  ;  calling  upon  him  to  save  her ;  but  this 
time  Gerald  put  her  aside  with  little  ceremony. 

"If  you'll  take  this  boy!"  he  cried. 
"  Hold  him  tight,  please,  and  don't  let  him 
get  off.  I'm  going  —  if  I  may?"  he  looked 
swift  inquiry  at  Margaret. 


BLACK   SPIRITS   AND   WHITE.  239 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes  !  "  cried  the  girl.  "  Do  go  ! 
We  are  all  right.  Cousin  Sophronia,  you 
must  let  him  go." 

Dropping  Merton  into  the  affrighted  lady's 
arms,  the  lithe,  active  youth  was  in  the  house 
in  an  instant,  following  the  Voice  of  Fernley. 
There  it  came  again,  rising,  rising,  —  the  cry 
of  a  lost  soul,  the  wail  of  a  repentant  spirit. 

"  A  roarer,  by  all  means !  "  said  young  Mer- 
ryweather.  "  But  where,  and  by  whom  ?  " 
He  ran  from  side  to  side,  laying  his  ear 
against  the  wall  here,  there,  following  the 
sound.  Suddenly  he  stopped  short,  like  a 
dog  pointing.  Here,  in  this  thickness  of  the 
wall,  was  it  ?  Then,  there  must  be  a  recess, 
a  something.  What  corresponded  to  this 
jog  ?  Ha !  that  little  low  door,  almost  hid 
den  by  the  great  picture  of  the  boar-hunt. 
Locked  ?  No ;  only  sticking,  from  not  having 
been  opened,  perhaps,  for  years.  It  yielded. 
He  rushed  in,  —  the  door  closed  behind  him 
with  a  spring.  He  found  himself  in  total 
darkness,  —  darkness  filled  with  a  hideous 
cry,  that  rang  out  sharp  and  piercing, — 
then  fell  into  sudden  silence. 


240  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

"  Is  it  you,  Master  Merton  ?  "  said  a  whis 
per.  "I  didn't  wait;  I  thought  maybe  — " 

Gerald  stretched  out  his  arm,  and  grasped 
a  solid  form.  Instantly  he  was  grasped  in 
return  by  a  pair  of  strong  arms,  —  grasped 
and  held  with  as  powerful  a  grip  as  his 
own.  A  full  minute  passed,  two  creatures 
clutching  each  other  in  the  pit-dark,  listen 
ing  to  each  other's  breathing,  counting  each 
other's  heart-beats.  Then  — 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  asked  Gerald,  under  his 
breath. 

"None  of  your  business !"  was  the  reply, 
low,  but  prompt.  "  Who  are  you,  if  it  comes 
to  that  ?  " 

"  Why,  —  why,  you're  a  woman !  " 

"And  you're  a  man,  and  that's  worse. 
What  are  you  doing  here  ? " 

"  I  am  taking  tea  here.  I'm  a  visitor.  I 
have  been  here  all  the  evening." 

"And  I've  been  here  twenty  years.  I'm 
the  cook." 

The  young  man  loosed  his  hold,  and 
dropped  on  the  floor.  He  rocked  back 
and  forth,  in  silent  convulsions  of  laughter. 


BLACK   SPIRITS    AND    WHITE.  241 

"  The  cook  !  Great  Caesar,  the  cook !  Oh, 
dear  me !  Stop  me,  somebody.  What  — 
what  did  you  do  it  for  ?  "  he  gasped,  be 
tween  the  paroxysms. 

"  Hush  !  Young  Mr.  Merry  weather,  is  it  ? 
Do  be  quiet,  sir !  We're  close  by  the  ve 
randah.  Was  —  was  she  frightened,  sir  ?  " 

"  She  ?    Who  ?     One  of  'em  was." 

"  She  —  the  old  one.  I  wouldn't  frighten 
Miss  Margaret ;  but  she  has  too  much  sense. 
Was  the  other  one  scared,  sir  ?  " 

"Into  fits,  very  near.  You  did  it  well, 
Mrs.  Cook !  I  couldn't  have  done  it  better, 
—  look  here !  I  shall  have  to  tell  them, 
though.  I  came  expressly  to  find  out — " 

Groping  in  the  dark,  Frances  clutched  his 
arm  again,  this  time  in  a  gentler  grasp. 
"Don't  you  do  it,  sir!"  she  whispered. 
"  Young  gentleman,  don't  you  do  it !  If 
you  do,  she'll  stay  here  all  her  days.  No 
one  can't  stand  her,  sir,  and  this  were  the 
only  way.  Hark!  Save  us!  What's  that?" 

No  glimmer  of  light  could  penetrate  to  the 
closet  where  they  stood,  in  the  thickness  of 
the  wall,  but  a  tremendous  peal  of  thunder 


242 


MARGARET    MONTFORT. 


shook  the  house,  and  Miss  Sophronia's  voice 
could  be  heard  calling  frantically  on  Gerald 
to  come  back. 

"I  must  go,"  said  Gerald.  "I  — I  won't 
give  you  away,  Mrs.  Cook.  Shake  !  " 

"You're  a  gentleman,  sir,"  replied  Fran 
ces.  They  shook  hands  in  the  dark,  and 
Gerald  ran  out.  Even  as  he  opened  the 
door  the  storm  broke.  A  violent  blast  of 
wind,  a  blinding  flare,  a  rattling  volley 
of  thunder,  and  down  came  the  rain. 

A  rush,  a  roar,  the  trampling  of  a  thou 
sand  horses;  and  overhead  the  great  guns 
bellowing,  and  the  flashes  coming  and  going 
—  it  was  a  wild  scene.  The  family  had 
come  in,  and  were  all  standing  in  the  front 
hall.  All?  No,  two,  only,  —  Margaret  and 
Miss  Sophronia.  In  the  confusion  and  tu 
mult,  the  children  had  escaped,  and  were 
gone.  Margaret,  a  little  pale,  but  perfectly 
composed,  met  Gerald  with  a  smile,  as  if  it 
were  the  most  ordinary  thing  in  the  world 
for  young  gentlemen  to  walk  out  of  the  wall. 
She  was  supporting  Miss  Sophronia,  who  had 
quite  lost  her  head,  and  was  crying  piteously 


BLACK   SPIRITS   AND    WHITE.  243 

that  they  would  die  together,  and  that  who 
ever  escaped  must  take  her  watch  and  chain 
back  to  William.  «  Poor  William,  what  will 
become  of  him  and  those  helpless  babes  ? " 

"  It's  all  right,  Miss  Montfort,"  said  Gerald, 
cheerfully.  "I  ran  the  noise  down,  and  it 
was  the  simplest  thing  in  the  world.  Noth 
ing  to  be  alarmed  about,  I  do  assure  you; 
nothing/' 

"What  was  it?"  asked  Margaret,  in  an 
undertone. 

"I'll  tell  you  by  and  by,"  replied  the 
young  man,  in  the  same  tone.  "Not  now, 
please;  I  promised  —  somebody.  You  shall 
know  all  in  good  time." 

His  look  of  bright  confidence  was  not  to  be 
resisted.  Margaret  nodded  cheerfully,  and 
submitted  to  be  mystified  in  her  own  home 
by  an  almost  total  stranger.  Indeed,  the 
Voice  of  Fernley  had  suddenly  sunk  into 
insignificance  beside  the  Voice  of  Nature. 
The  turmoil  outside  grew  more  and  more 
furious.  At  length  a  frightful  crash  an 
nounced  that  the  lightning  had  struck  some 
where  very  near  the  house.  This  was  the 


244  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

last  straw  for  poor  Miss  Sophronia.  She 
fled  up-stairs,  imploring  Gerald  and  Margaret 
to  follow  her.  "  Let  us  die  together  ! "  she 
cried.  "I  am  responsible  for  your  young 
lives;  we  will  pass  away  in  one  embrace. 
The  long  closet,  Margaret!  It  is  our  only 
chance  of  life,  —  the  long  closet!" 

The  long  closet,  as  it  was  called,  was  in 
reality  a  long  enclosed  passage,  leading  from 
the  Blue  Room,  where  Miss  Sophronia  slept, 
to  one  of  the  spare  chambers  beyond.  It  was 
a  dim  place,  lighted  only  by  a  transom  above 
the  door.  Here  were  kept  various  ancient 
family  relics  which  would  not  bear  the  light 
of  day;  a  few  rusty  pictures,  some  ancient 
hats,  and,  notably,  a  bust  of  some  deceased 
Montfort,  which  stood  on  a  shelf,  covered 
with  a  white  sheet,  like  a  half-length  ghost. 
Margaret  did  not  think  this  gloomy  place  at 
all  a  cheerful  place  for  a  nervous  woman  in 
a  thunder-storm ;  so,  nodding  to  Gerald  to 
follow,  she  ran  up-stairs.  But  before  she 
reached  the  landing,  terrific  shrieks  began  to 
issue  from  the  upper  floor  ;  shrieks  so  agonis 
ing,  so  ear-piercing,  that  they  dominated  even 


BLACK   SPIEITS    AND    WHITE.  245 

the  clamour  of  the  storm.  Margaret  flew,  and 
Gerald  flew  after.  What  new  portent  was 
here  ?  Breathless,  Margaret  reached  the  door 
of  the  long  closet.  It  stood  open.  On  the 
floor  inside  crouched  Miss  Sophronia,  uttering 
the  frantic  screams  which  rang  through  the 
house.  Apparently  she  had  lost  the  use  of 
her  limbs  from  terror,  else  she  would  not 
have  remained  motionless  before  the  figure 
which  was  advancing  towards  her  from  the 
gloom  of  the  long  passage.  First  a  dusky 
whiteness  glimmered  from  the  black  of  the 
further  end,  where  the  half-ghost  sat  on 
its  shelf  ;  then  gradually  the  whiteness 
detached  itself,  took  shape,  —  if  it  could  be 
called  shape,  —  emerged  into  the  dim  half- 
light, —  came  on  slowly,  silently.  Shrouded, 
like  the  ghostly  bust  behind  it,  tall  and 
slender,  with  dark  locks  escaping  beneath  the 
hood  or  cowl  that  drooped  low  over  its  face, 

—  with  one  hand  raised,  and  pointing  stiffly 
at  the  unhappy  woman,  —  the  figure  came  on 

—  and  on  —  till  it  saw  Margaret.     Then  it 
stopped.    Next  came  in  view  the  bright,  eager 
face  of   Gerald  Merryweather,  looking   over 


246  MARGARET   MONTFORT. 

Margaret's  shoulder.  And  at  that,  the  spectre 
began,  very  slowly,  and  with  ineffable  dignity, 
to  retreat. 

"Exclusive  party,"  whispered  Gerald.  "Ob 
jects  to  our  society,  Miss  Montfort.  Shall  I 
head  him  off,  or  let  him  go  ?  " 

Margaret  made  no  reply ;  she  was  bending 
over  the  poor  lady  on  the  floor,  trying  to 
make  her  hear,  trying  to  check  the  screams 
which  still  rang  out  with  piercing  force. 

"  Cousin  Sophronia  !  Cousin,  do  stop  !  Do 
listen  to  me  !  It  is  a  trick,  a  naughty,  naughty 
trick ;  nothing  else  in  the  world.  Do,  please, 
stop  screaming,  and  listen  to  me.  Oh,  what 
shall  I  do  with  her?"  This  remark  was 
addressed  to  Gerald;  but  that  young  gentle 
man  was  no  longer  beside  her.  He  had  been 
keeping  his  eye  on  the  spectre,  which  slowly, 
softly  glided  back  and  back,  until  it  melted 
once  more  into  the  thick  blackness  at  the 
further  end.  Gerald  dodged  out  into  the  hall, 
and  ran  along  the  outer  passage,  to  meet,  as 
he  expected,  the  ghost  full  and  fair  at  the 
other  door.  "Run!"  cried  a  small  voice. 
"I'll  hold  him;  run!"  Gerald  was  grasped 


A    LIVELY    GHOST. 


BLACK   SPIRITS    AND    WHITE.  247 

once  more,  this  time  by  a  pair  of  valiant  little 
hands  which  did  their  best,  and  which  he  put 
aside  very  gently,  seeing  a  petticoat  beneath 
them.  "  You  sha'n't  catch  him  !  "  cried  the 
second  spectre,  clinging  stoutly  to  his  legs. 

"  Twice  he  wrung  her  hands  in  twain, 
But  the  small  hands  closed  again  ! " 

Meantime  the  spectre-in-chief  had  darted 
back  into  the  closed  passage.  There  was  a 
crash.  The  half -ghost  toppled  over  as  he 
ran  against  it,  and  was  shivered  on  the  floor, 
adding  another  noise  to  the  confusion.  The 
phantom  raced  along  the  passage,  took  a  flying 
leap  over  Miss  Sophronia's  prostrate  form, 
revealing,  had  any  looked,  an  unsuspected 
blackness  of  leg  beneath  the  flowing  white, 
and  scudded  along  the  square  upper  hall.  By 
this  time  Gerald  was  at  his  heels  again,  and  a 
pretty  race  it  was.  Round  the  hall,  up  the 
stairs,  and  round  the  landing  of  the  attic  flight. 
At  the  attic  door  the  spectre  wavered  an 
instant, — then  turned,  and  dashed  down-stairs 
again.  Once  more  round  the  upper  hall,  now 
down  the  great  front  staircase,  gathering  his 


248  MARGARET   MONTFORT. 

skirts  as  he  went,  the  black  legs  now  in 
good  evidence,  and  making  wonderful  play.  A 
good  runner,  surely.  But  the  Greyhound  was 
gaining ;  he  was  upon  him.  The  phantom  gave 
a  wild  shriek,  gained  the  front  door  with  one 
desperate  leap,  and  plunged,  followed  by  his 
pursuer,  into  the  arms  of  a  gentleman  who 
stood  in  the  doorway,  in  the  act  of  entering. 

"  Easy,  there! "  said  Mr.  Montfort,  receiving 
pursuer  and  pursued  with  impartial  calm.  "  Is 
it  the  Day  of  Judgment,  or  what  ? " 


CHAPTER  XY. 

A   DEPAKTUKE. 

"  I  AM  extremely  sorry,  Sophronia,  that  you 
were  so  alarmed  last  night.  I  trust  you  feel 
no  ill  effects  this  morning  ?  " 

"  111  effects  !  My  dear  John,  I  am  a  wreck  ! 
Simply  a  wreck,  mentally  and  physically.  I 
shall  never  recover  from  it  —  never." 

"  Oh,  don't  say  that,  Cousin  Sophronia !  " 
exclaimed  Margaret,  who  was  really  much  dis 
tressed  at  all  that  passed. 

"  My  love,  if  it  is  the  truth,  I  must  say 
it.  Truth,  Margaret,  is  what  I  live  for.  No, 
I  shall  never  recover,  I  feel  it.  My  prayer  is 
that  these  unhappy  children  may  never  know 
that  they  are  the  cause  of  my  untimely  —  " 

"  Has  Basil  made  his  apology  ?  "  asked  Mr. 
Montfort,  abruptly. 

"  Yes,  John,  yes ;  I  am  bound  to  say  he 
has,  though  he  showed  little  feeling  in  it. 


249 


250  MARGAKET    MONTFORT. 

Not  a  tenth  part  so  much  as  little  Merton, 
who  was  in  real  sorrow,  —  actually  shed  tears, 
—  although  he  had  no  hand  in  the  cruel  de 
ceit.  Ah !  Merton  is  the  only  one  of  those 
children  who  has  any  heart." 

"Indeed?"  said  Mr.  Montfort,  "I  didn't 
know  it  was  as  bad  as  that." 

"  Quite,  I  assure  you,  dearest  John.  If  it 
were  not  for  my  poor  William  and  his  chil 
dren,  I  should  take  Merton  with  me  and  be  a 
mother  to  him.  His  nerves,  like  mine,  are 
shattered  by  the  terrible  occurrences  of  the 
last  two  nights.  He  was  positively  hysteri 
cal  as  he  pointed  out  to  me  —  what  I  had 
already  pointed  out  to  you,  Margaret  —  that 
the  real  thing  had  not  been  explained.  I 
might,  in  time,  live  down  the  effect  of  those 
children's  wicked  jest ;  but  the  Voice  of  Fern- 
ley  has  never  been  explained,  and  never  will 
be." 

Mr.  Montfort  pulled  his  moustache,  and 
looked  out  of  the  window,  observing  the 
prospect;  but  Margaret  cried: 

"Oh,  Cousin  Sophronia,  you  are  wrong; 
indeed,  indeed  you  are !  Young  Mr.  Merry- 


A   DEPARTURE.  251 

weather  found  out  all  about  it  last  night,  only 
he  had  not  time  to  tell  us.  He  said  it  was 
something  perfectly  simple,  and  that  there 
was  no  need  of  being  alarmed  in  the  least." 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Mr.  Montfort,  "  I  have 
a  note  from  the  lad  this  morning.  He  found 
some  special  tools  were  needed,  and  went  up 
to  town  by  the  early  train  to  see  about  them. 
May  be  gone  a  day  or  two,  he  says.  What 
was  the  noise  like,  Margaret?" 

Margaret  was  about  to  tell  all  she  knew, 
but  Miss  Sophronia  interrupted.  "  Spare  me, 
dearest  Margaret,  spare  me  the  recalling  of 
details.  I  am  still  too  utterly  broken,  —  I 
shall  faint,  I  know  I  shall.  John,  it  was  sim 
ply  the  voice  that  was  heard  ten,  or  it  may 
be  fifteen  years  ago,  when  I  was  a  young  girl. 
You  must  remember;  it  is  impossible  but 
that  you  must  remember." 

"  I  remember  perfectly,"  said  Mr.  Montfort. 
"  That  was  thirty  years  ago,  Sophronia ;  that 
was  in  1866.  Oh,  yes,  I  remember."  Again 
Mr.  Montfort  became  absorbed  in  the  view 
from  the  window.  His  face  was  very  grave ; 
why,  then,  did  the  buttons  on  his  waistcoat 


252  MARGARET   MONTFORT. 

shake  ?  "  And  Master  Merton  was  frightened, 
was  he  ?  "  he  resumed,  presently.  "  Ha !  that 
looks  bad.  Good  morning,  Jones,"  as  a  re 
spectable-looking  man  in  livery  came  up  the 
gravel  walk.  "  A  note  for  me  ?  no  answer  ? 
thanks."  The  man  touched  his  hat,  and  de 
parted  ;  Mr.  Montfort  opened  the  pretty,  pearl- 
coloured  note,  and  read,  as  follows : 

"DEAR  JOHN: 

"Don't  punish  the  children;  it  was  partly  my 
fault,  and  partly  your  own.  I  supposed  you  expected 
something  to  happen,  and  I  thought  the  old  trick 
would  serve  as  well  as  a  new  one. 

"  As  ever, 

"E.  P." 

"  Humph!"  said  Mr.  Montfort,  twisting  the 
note,  and  frowning  at  the  window.  "  Pre 
cisely  !  and  so,  you  were  saying,  Sophronia  — 
ahem  !  that  is,  you  are  obliged  to  leave  us  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  dearest  John,  I  must  go.  I  could 
not,  no  !  I  could  not  sleep  another  night  be 
neath  this  roof.  I  have  told  Willis.  I  am 
cut  to  the  heart  at  leaving  you,  so  helpless, 
with  only  this  poor  child  here,  and  those  — 
those  dreadful  children  of  Anthony's.  I 


A   DEPAKTUKE.  253 

would  so  gladly  have  made  a  home  for  you, 
my  poor  cousin.  I  live  only  for  others ;  but 
still  it  seems  my  duty  to  live,  and  I  am  con 
vinced  that  another  night  here  would  be  my 
death." 

"  I  will  not  attempt  to  change  your  purpose, 
Sophronia.  At  the  same  time  I  am  bound  to 
tell  you  that  —  a  —  that  the  disturbance  of 
which  you  speak  is  of  no  supernatural  kind, 
but  is  attributable  to  —  to  human  agency  alto 
gether.  If  you  wish,  I  will  have  it  looked 
into  at  once,  or  we  can  wait  till  young  Merry- 
weather  comes  back.  He  seemed  to  know 
about  it,  you  say,  Margaret.  And  —  but  at 
any  rate,  Sophronia,  we  can  write  you  the 
sequel,  and,  if  you  feel  uneasy,  why,  as  you 
say—  You  have  ordered  Willis  ?  Then  I'll 
go  and  get  some  tags  for  your  trunks." 

Mr.  Montfort  retired  with  some  alacrity, 
and  Margaret,  with  an  unexplained  feeling 
of  guilt  at  her  heart,  offered  to  help  Miss 
Sophronia  with  her  packing. 

An  hour  later  the  lady  was  making  her 
adieux.  The  carriage  was  at  the  door,  Willis 
had  strapped  on  the  two  trunks,  and  all  was 


254  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

ready.  Mr.  Montfort  shook  his  cousin  by  the 
hand,  and  was  sorry  that  her  visit  had  ended 
in  such  an  untoward  manner.  Margaret 
begged  Cousin  Sophronia's  pardon  for  any 
thing  she  might  have  done  amiss.  Indeed,  the 
girl's  heart  was  full  of  a  vague  remorse.  She 
had  tried,  but  she  felt  that  she  might  have 
tried  harder  to  make  things  go  smoothly. 
But  Miss  Sophronia  bore,  she  declared,  no 
malice  to  any  one. 

"  I  came,  dear  John,  determined  to  do  my 
best,  to  be  a  sister  to  you  in  every  way ;  it 
will  always  be  a  comfort  to  think  that  I  have 
been  with  you  these  two  months.  It  may  be 
that  some  time,  when  my  nerves  are  restored, 
I  may  be  able  to  come  to  Fernley  again;  if 
you  should  make  any  changes,  you  understand 
me.  Indeed,  a  complete  change,  my  dear 
cousin,  is  the  thing  I  should  most  recommend. 
Missing  me  as  you  will, —  a  companion  of  your 
own  age,  —  you  might  still  marry,  dearest 
John,  you  might  indeed.  Emily  —  " 

"  That  will  do,  Sophronia  !  "  said  Mr.  Mont- 
fort,  sternly.  "  Have  you  everything  you 
want  for  the  journey?" 


A   DEPARTURE.  255 

"Everything,  I  think,  dear  John.  Ah! 
well,  good-bye,  Margaret !  It  has  been  a  blow 
to  find  that  you  do  not  love  me,  my  dear, 
as  I  have  loved  you,  but  we  must  bear  our 
burdens." 

"What  do  you— what  can  you  mean, 
Cousin  Sophronia  ?  "  asked  Margaret,  turning 

crimson.     "  I  am  sure  I  have  tried " 

"Ah!  well,  my  dear,  one  gives  oneself 
away,"  said  the  lady.  «  You  said  in  your  let 
ter  to  your  cousin,  — I  recall  the  precise  words 
—  'I  have  tried  to  love  her,  but  I  cannot 
succeed.'  Yes ;  very  painful  to  one  who  has 

a  heart  like  mine  ;  but  I  find  so  few " 

"  Cousin  Sophronia,"  cried  the  girl,  all  softer 
thoughts  now  merged  in  a  burning  resentment. 
"You— you  read  my  letter,  the  letter  that 
was  on  my  own  desk,  in  my  own  room  ?  " 
"  Certainly,  my  love,  I  did.  I  hope  I  know 
something  about  young  girls  and  their  ways ; 
I  considered  it  my  duty,  my  sacred  duty,  to 
see  what  you  wrote." 

"  You  seem  to  know  little  about  the  ways 
of  gentle  people  !  "  cried  Margaret,  unable  for 
once  to  restrain  herself.  Her  uncle  laid  his 


256  MARGARET   MONTFORT. 

hand  on  her  arm.  "  Steady,  little  woman ! " 
he  said.  His  quiet,  warning  voice  brought 
the  angry  girl  to  herself,  the  more  quickly 
that  she  knew  his  sympathy  was  all  with  her. 

"I — I  should  not  have  said  that,  Cousin 
Sophronia,"  she  said.  "  I  beg  your  pardon  ! 
Good-bye ! " 

She  could  not  say  more ;  she  stood  still, 
with  burning  cheeks,  while  Mr.  Montfort 
helped  the  lady  into  the  carriage. 

"A  pleasant  journey  to  you,  Sophronia," 
he  said,  as  he  closed  the  door.  "Willis  —  " 

"  Good-bye  !  "  cried  Miss  Sophronia,  out  of 
the  window.  "  Bless  you,  dearest  John !  Mar 
garet,  my  love,  I  shall  always  think  of  you 
most  tenderly,  believe  me,  in  spite  of  every 
thing.  It  is  impossible  for  me  to  harbour  re 
sentment.  No,  my  child,  I  shall  always  love 
you  as  a  sister.  I  have  taken  the  old  vinai 
grette  with  me,  as  a  little  souvenir  of  you ;  I 
knew  it  would  give  you  pleasure  to  have  me 
use  it.  Bless  you !  And,  John,  if  you  want 
me  to  look  up  some  good  servants  for  you,  I 
know  of  an  excellent  woman  who  would  be 
the  very  thing  —  " 


A   DEPAKTUKE.  257 

"Willis !  "  said  Mr.  Montfort  again.  "  You'll 
miss  that  train,  Sophronia,  if  you  don't,  —  bon 
voyage !  " 

Mr.  Montfort  stood  for  some  seconds  look 
ing  after  the  carriage  as  it  drove  off  •  then  he 
drew  a  long  breath,  and  threw  out  his  arms, 
opening  his  broad  chest. 

"  Ha  !  "  said  he.  "  So  that  is  over.  Here 
endeth  the  —  What,  crying,  May  Margaret  ? 
Come  and  sit  here  beside  me,  child ;  or  shall 
we  come  out  and  see  the  roses  ?  Really  aston 
ishing  to  have  this  number  of  roses  in  August ; 
but  some  of  these  late  kinds  are  very  fine,  I 
think." 

Chatting  quietly  and  cheerfully,  he  moved 
from  one  shrub  to  another,  while  Margaret 
wiped  her  eyes,  and  gradually  quieted  her 
troubled  spirit. 

"Thank  you,  Uncle  John!"  she  said, 
presently.  "You  know,  don't  you?  You 
always  know,  just  as  papa  did.  But  —  but 
I  never  heard  of  any  one's  doing  such  a  thing, 
did  you?" 

"  Didn't  you,  my  dear  ?  Well,  you  see,  you 
didn't  know  your  Cousin  Sophronia  when  she 


258  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

was  a  girl.  And  —  let  us  be  just,"  he  added. 
"You,  belonging  to  the  new  order,  have  no 
idea  of  what  many  people  thought  and  did 
forty  years  ago.  I  have  no  doubt,  from  my 
recollection  of  my  Aunt  Melissa,  Sophronia's 
mother,  that  she  read  all  her  children's  letters. 
I  know  she  searched  my  pockets  once,  think 
ing  I  had  stolen  sugar ;  I  hadn't,  that  time, 
and  my  white  rat  was  in  my  pocket,  and  bit 
her,  and  I  was  glad." 

Seeing  Margaret  laugh  again,  Mr.  Montfort 
added,  in  a  different  tone,  "  And  now,  I  must 
see  those  boys." 

The  children  were  sent  for  to  the  study, 
where  they  remained  for  some  time.  Basil 
and  Susan  D.  came  out  looking  very  grave  ; 
they  went  up  to  the  nursery  in  silence,  and 
sat  on  the  sofa,  rubbing  their  heads  together, 
and  now  and  then  exchanging  a  murmur  of 
sympathy  and  understanding.  Merton  re 
mained  after  the  others,  and  when  he  emerged 
from  the  fatal  door,  he  was  weeping  profusely, 
and  refused  to  be  comforted  by  Elizabeth; 
and  was  found  an  hour  after,  pinching  Chico's 
tail,  and  getting  bitten  in  return.  Telling 


A  DEPARTUKE.  259 

Margaret  about  it  afterward,  Mr.   Montfort 
said  : 

"Basil  and  the  little  girl  tell  a  perfectly 
straight  story.  It  is  just  as  I  supposed  ;  they 
were  trying  the  old  ghost  trick  that  we  other 
boys,  your  father  and  Richard  and  I,  Marga 
ret,  played  on  Sophronia  years  ago.  If  the 
thunder-storm  had  not  brought  you  all  up 
stairs,  there  would  have  been  some  very  pretty 
ghost-gliding,  and  the  poor  soul  would  very 
likely  have  been  frightened  into  a  real  fit  in 
stead  of  an  imaginary  one.  Children  don't 
realise  that  sort  of  thing ;  I  certainly  did  not, 
nor  my  brothers ;  but  I  think  these  two  real 
ise  it  now,  and  they  are  not  likely  to  try  any 
thing  of  the  kind  again.  As  for  the  noise, —  " 

"  Yes,  Uncle  John,  I  am  really  much  more 
puzzled  about  that  noise,  for,  of  course,  I  saw 
the  other  foolishness  with  my  eyes." 

"Well!"  said  Mr.  Montfort,  comfortably, 
"we  used  to  make  that  noise  with  a  thing 
we  called  a  roarer ;  I  don't  know  whether 
they  have  such  things  now.  You  take  a 
tomato-can,  and  put  a  string  through  it, 
and  then  you  —  It  really  does  make  a  fine 


260  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

noise,  very  much  what  you  describe.  Yes, 
I  have  that  on  my  conscience,  too,  Margaret. 
You  see,  I  told  you  I  knew  this  kind  of  child, 
and  so  I  do,  and  for  good  reason.  But  Basil 
won't  say  anything  at  all  about  the  matter. 
He  says  it  was  not  his  hunt,  and  he  will  tell 
all  that  he  did,  but  cannot  tell  on  others ; 
which  is  entirely  proper.  But  when  I  turned 
to  that  other  little  scamp,  Merton,  I  could 
get  nothing  but  floods  of  tears,  and  entreaties 
that  I  would  ask  Frances.  '  Frances  knows 
all  about  it ! '  he  said,  over  and  over." 
"  And  have  you  seen  Frances  ?  " 
«N  —  no?"  replied  Mr.  Montfort,  rather 
slowly.  "I  am  going  to  see  Frances  now." 
Accordingly,  a  few  minutes  later,  Frances, 
bustling  about  her  kitchen,  became  aware  of 
her  master  standing  in  the  doorway.  She  be 
came  aware  of  him,  I  say,  but  it  was  with 
"the  tail  of  her  eye"  only;  she  took  no 
notice  of  him,  and  went  on  rattling  dish-pans 
at  an  alarming  rate.  She  appeared  to  be 
house-cleaning ;  at  all  events,  the  usually  neat 
kitchen  was  in  a  state  of  upheaval,  and  the 
chairs  and  tables,  tubs  and  clothes-horses, 


A   DEPARTURE.  261 

were  so  disposed  that  it  was  next  to  impos 
sible  for  any  one  to  enter.  Moreover,  Frances 
apparently  had  a  toothache,  for  her  face  was 
tied  up  in  a  fiery  red  handkerchief ;  and 
when  Mr.  Montfort  saw  that  handkerchief,  he 
looked  grave,  and  hung  about  the  door  more 
like  a  schoolboy  than  a  dignified  gentleman 
and  the  proprietor  of  Fernley  House. 

"Good  morning,  Frances,"  he  said  at 
length,  in  a  conciliatory  tone. 

"  Good  morning,  sir,"  said  Frances ;  and 
plunged  her  mop  into  a  pail  of  hot  water. 

"  You  have  a  toothache,  Frances  ?  I  am 
very  sorry." 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  have ;  thank  you,  sir." 

"A  —  Frances  —  I  came  to  ask  if  you  can 
tell  me  anything  about  the  strange  noise  that 
frightened  the  ladies  so,  last  night  and  the 
night  before." 

"No,  sir,"  said  Frances.  "I  can't  tell 
you  nothing  about  it.  There  do  be  rats 
enough  in  this  house,  Mr.  Montfort,  to  make 
any  'kind  of  a  noise ;  and  I  do  wish,  sir,  as 
the  next  time  you  are  in  town,  you  would  get 
me  a  rat-trap  as  is  good  for  something. 


262  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

There's  nothing  but  trash,  as  the  rats  won't 
look  at,  and  small  blame  to  them.  I  can't  be 
expected  to  do  without  things  to  do  with, 
Mr.  Montfort,  and  I  was  saying  so  to  Eliza 
beth  only  this  morning." 

"  I  will  see  to  the  traps,  Frances.  But  this 
noise  that  I  am  speaking  of ;  Master  Merton 
says  —  " 

"  And  I  was  wishful  to  ask  you,  sir,  if  you 
would  please  tell  Master  Merton  to  keep  out 
of  my  kitchen,  and  not  come  bothering  here 
every  hour  in  the  day.  The  child  is  that 
greedy,  he  do  eat  himself  mostly  ill  every 
day,  sir,  as  his  father  would  be  uneasy  if  he 
knew  it,  sir.  And  to  have  folks  hanging 
round  my  kitchen  when  I  am  busy  is  a  thing 
I  never  could  abide,  Mr.  John,  as  you  know 
very  well,  sir,  and  I  hope  you'll  excuse  me  for 
speaking  out ;  and  if  you'd  go  along,  sir,  and 
be  so  kind,  maybe  I  could  get  through  my 
cleaning  so  as  to  have  dinner  not  above  half 
an  hour  or  so  late,  though  I'm  doubtful  my 
self,  harried  as  I  have  been." 

"  I  really  don't  see  what  I  am  to  do  with 
Frances,"  said  Mr.  Montfort,  as  he  went  back 


A   DEPARTURE.  263 

to  his  study ;  "  she  grows  more  and  more  im 
practicable.  She  will  be  giving  me  notice  to 
quit  one  of  these  days,  if  I  don't  mind.  I 
am  very  sure  the  house  belongs  to  her,  and 
not  to  me.  But,  until  Master  Gerald  Merry- 
weather  comes  back,  I  really  don't  see  how  I 
am  to  find  out  who  worked  that  roarer." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

PEACE. 

PEACE  reigned  once  more  at  Fernley  House; 
peace  and  cheerfulness,  and  much  joy.  It 
was  not  the  same  peace  as  of  old,  when  Mar 
garet  and  her  uncle  lived  their  quiet  tete-a- 
tete  life,  and  nothing  came  to  break  the  even 
calm  of  the  days.  Very  different  was  the  life 
of  to-day.  The  peace  was  spiritual  purely,  for 
the  lively  and  varied  round  of  daily  life  gave 
little  time  for  repose  and  meditation,  at  least 
for  Margaret.  She  had  begun  to  give  the 
children  short  but  regular  lessons  in  the  morn 
ing,  finding  that  the  day  was  not  only  more 
profitable  but  pleasanter  for  them  and  for  all, 
if  it  began  with  a  little  study.  And  the  les 
sons  were  a  delight  to  her.  Remembering  her 
struggles  with  Peggy,  —  dear  Peggy, — it  was 
a  joy  to  teach  these  young  creatures  the  begin- 

264 


PEACE.  265 

nings  of  her  beloved  English  history,  and  to 
see  how  they  leaped  at  it,  even  as  she  herself 
had  leaped  so  few  years  ago.     They  carried  it 
about  with   them  all   day.     Margaret   never 
knew  whom  to  expect  to  dinner  in  these  days. 
Now  a  scowling  potentate  would  stalk  in  with 
folded  arms  and  announce  that  he  was  William 
<the  Conqueror,  and  demand  the  whereabouts  of 
Hereward  the  Wake  (who  was  pretty  sure  to 
emerge  from  under  the  table,  and  engage  in 
sanguinary  combat,  just  after  he  had  brushed 
his  hair,  and  have  to  be  sent  up  to  the  nursery 
to  brush  it  over  again) ;  now  a  breathless  pair 
would   rush   in,   crying   that   they  were   the 
Princes  in  the  Tower,  and  would  she  please 
save  them,  for  that  horrid  old  beast  of  a  Glos- 
ter  was  coming  after  them  just  as  fast  as  he 
could  come.     Indeed,  Margaret  had  to  make 
a  rule  that  they  should  be  their  own  selves, 
and  no  one  else,  in  the  evening  when  Uncle 
John  came  home,  for  fear  of  more  confusion 
than  he  would  like. 

"  But  I  get  so  used  to  being  Eichard,"  cried 
Basil,  after  a  day  of  crusader-life.  "  You  can't 
do  a  king  well  if  you  have  to  keep  stopping 


266  MARGARET   MOKTFORT. 

and  being  a  boy  half  the  time.  Don't  you  see 
that  yourself,  Cousin  Margaret  ?  " 

Yes,  Margaret  saw  that,  but  she  submitted 
that  she  liked  boys,  and  that  it  was  trying  for 
a  person  in  private  life,  like  herself,  to  live  all 
day  in  royal  society,  especially  when  royalty 
was  so  excited  as  the  Majesty  of  England  was 
at  this  juncture. 

"  Oh,  but  why  can't  you  be  some  one  too, 
Cousin  Margaret  ?  I  suppose  Susan  D.  would 
hate  to  give  up  being  Berengaria,  after  you 
gave  her  that  lovely  gold  veil  —  I  say,  doesn't 
she  look  bul — doesn't  she  look  pretty  in  it? 
I  never  thought  Susan  D.  would  come  out 
pretty,  but  it's  mostly  the  way  you  do  her 
hair  —  what  was  I  saying,  Cousin  Margaret  ? 
Oh,  yes,  but  there  are  other  people  you  could 
be,  lots  and  lots  of  them.  And  —  Merton 
doesn't  half  do  Saladin.  He  keeps  getting 
mad  when  I  run  him  through  the  body,  and  I 
cant  make  him  understand  that  I  don't  mean 
those  nasty,  fat,  black  things  in  ponds,  when 
I  call  him  '  learned  leech,'  and  you  know  he 
has  to  be  the  leech,  it  says  so  in  the '  Talisman.' 
And  so  perhaps  you  would  be  Saladin,  and  he 


PEACE.  267 

can  be  Sir  Kenneth,  though  he's  too  sneaky 
for  him,  too.  Or  else  you  could  be  the  her 
mit,  Cousin  Margaret.  Oh,  do  be  the  hermit ! 
Theodoric  of  Engedi,  you  know,  the  Flail  of 
the  Desert,  that's  a  splendid  one  to  do.  All 
you  have  to  do  is  keep  jumping  about  and 
waving  something,  and  crying  out,  <I  am 
Theodoric  of  Engedi !  I  am  the  Flail  of  the 
Desert ! '  Come  on,  Cousin  Margaret,  oh,  I 
say,  do!"  And  Susan  D.,  tugging  at  her 
cousin's  gown,  shouted  in  unison,  "  Oh,  I  say, 
do,  Cousin  Margaret !  " 

If  any  one  had  told  Margaret  Montf  ort,  three 
months  before  this,  that  she  would,  before  the 
end  of  the  summer,  be  capering  about  the  gar 
den,  waving  her  staff,  and  proclaiming  herself 
aloud  to  be  the  highly  theatrical  personage 
described  above,  she  would  have  opened  her 
eyes  in  gentle  and  rather  scornful  amazement. 
But  Margaret  was  learning  many  things  in 
these  days,  and  among  them  the  art  of  being 
a  child.  Her  life  had  been  mostly  spent  with 
older  people ;  she  had  never  known  till  now 
the  rapture  of  being  a  little  girl,  a  little  boy. 
Now,  seeing  it  in  these  bright  faces,  that  never 


268  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

failed  to  grow  brighter  at  sight  of  her,  she  felt 
the  joy  reflected  in  her  own  face,  in  her  own 
heart;  and  it  was  good  to  let  all  the  quiet, 
contained  maiden  ways  go,  once  in  a  while, 
and  just  be  a  child  with  the  children,  or  a 
Flail  of  the  Desert,  as  in  the  present  instance. 

John  Montfort,  leaning  on  the  gate, 
watched  the  pretty  play,  well  pleased. 
"  They  have  done  her  all  the  good  in  the 
world,"  he  said  to  himself.  "It  isn't  only 
what  she  has  done  for  them,  bless  her,  but 
for  her,  too,  it  has  been  a  great  thing.  I  was 
selfish  and  stupid  to  think  that  a  young  crea 
ture  could  go  on  growing  to  fulness,  without 
other  young  creatures  about  it.  How  will 
she  feel,  I  wonder,  about  their  going  ?  How 
would  she  like — " 

At  this  moment  he  was  discovered  by 
Basil,  who  charged  him  with  a  joyous  shout. 
"  Oh,  here  is  Uncle  John  !  Oh,  Uncle  John, 
don't  you  want  to  be  Saladin,  please  ? 
Here's  Merton  has  hurt  his  leg  and  gone  off 
in  a  sulk,  and  I'll  get  you  a  scimetar  in  a 
minute  —  it's  the  old  sickle,  and  Willis  says 
it's  so  rusty  you  can't  really  do  much  mis- 


"THE    'FLAIL    OF    THE    DESERT.'" 


PEACE.  269 

chief  with  it;  and  here's  the  Hermit  of 
Engedi,  you  know,  and  he  can  shout  —  " 

But,  alas,  for  the  Lion-hearted  !  When  he 
turned  to  summon  his  hermit,  he  saw  no  fly 
ing  figure,  brandishing  a  walking-stick  and 
crying  aloud,  but  a  demure  young  lady, 
smoothing  her  hair  hurriedly  and  shaking 
out  the  folds  of  her  dress,  as  she  hastened  to 
meet  her  uncle. 

"  Bravo  !  "  said  Uncle  John.  "  But  why 
did  you  stop,  Meg  ?  It  wouldn't  have  been 
the  first  time  I  had  played  Saladin,  I  assure 
you !  " 

"  Oh,  uncle !  I  am  really  too  much  out  of 
breath  to  play  any  more.  And  besides,  it  is 
near  tea-time,  and  the  children  must  go  and 
get  ready.  I  will  come  in  a  moment,  Susan 
dear,  and  do  your  hair.  Are  there  any  letters, 
Uncle  John  ?  Oh,  two,  from  the  girls  ;  how 
perfectly  delightful  !  Oh,  I  must  run  up,  but 
we'll  read  them  after  tea,  shall  we,  Uncle 
John  ?  " 

"  With  all  my  heart,  my  dear ;  and  I  have 
a  letter,  too,  about  which  I  shall  want  to  con 
sult  you.  Go  now,  or  Susan  D.  will  be  try- 


270  MARGAKET    MONTFORT. 

ing  to  braid  her  own  hair,  a  thing  to  be 
avoided,  I  have  observed." 

Tea  over,  and  Mr.  Montfort  seated  at  ease 
with  his  cigar,  the  children  engaged  in  an 
enchanting  game  of  Bat  (played  with  worn- 
out  umbrellas,  from  which  the  sticks  had  been 
taken :  this  game  is  to  be  highly  recom 
mended  where  there  is  space  for  flapping  and 
swooping),  Margaret  opened  her  letters  ;  re 
opened  them,  rather,  for  it  must  be  confessed 
that  she  had  peeped  into  both  while  she  was 
braiding  her  own  hair  and  changing  her  dress 
for  the  pretty  evening  gown  her  uncle  always 
liked  to  see. 

"Peggy  is  actually  off  for  school,  Uncle 
John.  It  does  not  seem  possible  that  we  are 
in  September,  and  the  summer  really  gone. 
She  seems  in  high  spirits  over  it,  dear  child. 
Listen  ! 

"DARLING  DEAREST  MARGARET: 

"  I  am  going  to-morrow ;  I  waited  till  the  last 
minute,  so  that  I  could  tell  you  the  last  of  me.  My 
trunk  is  almost  all  packed,  and  I  really  think  I  have 
done  it  pretty  well.  Thank  you,  ever  and  ever  and 
ever  so  much,  for  the  nice  things  to  tie  up  my  shoes 


PEACE.  271 

in.  They  are  just  lovely,  and  so  is  the  shoe-bag  to 
hang  against  the  wall.  I  mean  to  put  away  every 
shoe  just  the  very  minute  I  take  it  oft',  and  not  have 
them  kicking  about  the  closet  floor  at  all,  ever.  And 
the  combing-sack !  Oh,  Margaret,  it  is  a  perfect 
beauty  !  Ever  so  much  too  pretty  to  do  my  hair  in, 
and  mother  says  so,  too,  but  I  shall,  because  you 
made  it  for  me  to,  and  think  of  you  all  the  time  I  am, 
and  — 

"  I  got  a  little  mixed  there,  but  you  will  know  what 
I  mean,  dearest  Margaret.  Tell  Uncle  John  I  am  so 
perfectly  delighted  with  the  lovely  ring,  I  don't 
know  what  to  do.  Oh,  Margaret,  you  know  how  I 
always  wanted  a  ring,  and  how  I  used  to  admire  that 
sapphire  of  Rita's ;  and  to  think  of  having  a  sapphire 
ring  myself  —  why,  I  can  hardly  believe  it  even  now  ! 
I  couldn't  go  to  sleep  for  ever  so  long  last  night,  just 
watching  it  in  the  moonlight.  Of  course  I  shall  write 
to  Uncle  John  and  thank  him  myself,  but  I  couldn't 
wait  just  to  let  him  know  how  happy  I  was.  (Mar 
garet,  if  you  think  he  would  like  it,  or  at  least 
wouldn't  mind  it,  you  might  give  him  a  hug  just  now 
and  say  I  sent  it,  but  don't  unless  you  are  perfectly 
sure  he  wouldn't  mind,  because  you  know  how  I  love 
Uncle  John,  even  if  I  am  just  the  least  bit  afraid  of 
him,  and  I'm  sure  that  is  natural  when  you  think 
what  a  goose  I  am.)" 

Margaret  paused,   laughing,  to  throw  her 


272  MARGARET    MONTFORT.      . 

arms  around  her  uncle,  and  tell  him  that  this 
was  "  Peggy's  hug ;  "  then  she  went  on  : 

"  I  was  so  glad  to  get  your  last  letter,  and  to  hear 
all  about  dear,  darling  Fernley,  and  Uncle  John,  and 
Elizabeth  and  Frances,  and  all  the  funny  things  those 
funny  children  have  been  doing.  Margaret,  they  are 
almost  exactly  like  us  children  when  we  were  their 
age.  I  never  began  to  think  about  growing  up  till 
I  read  about  how  they  carry  on,  and  then  saw  that 
we  didn't  act  so  any  more,  Jean,  and  Flora,  and  I. 
Jean  is  younger  than  me,  of  course,  but  she's  more 
grown  up,  I  really  think.  I  think  you  must  have 
a  lovely  time,  now  that  —  well,  you  said  I  mustn't 
call  names,  and  so  I  won't,  but  I  know  just  exactly 
what  kind  of  a  person  she  was,  Margaret,  and  so  do 
you,  and  you  can't  deny  it,  so  now ! 

"  Margaret,  of  course  I  do  feel  rather  scared  about 
school,  for  I  am  still  very  ignorant,  and  I  suppose  all 
the  girls  will  know  about  forty  thousand  times  as 
much  as  I  do,  and  they  will  call  me  stupid,  and  I 
know  I  am ;  but  I  mean  to  be  brave,  and  remember 
all  the  things  you  have  said,  and  mother  has  helped 
me,  too,  oh,  a  lot,  and  she  says  she  just  wishes  she 
had  had  the  chance  when  she  was  a  girl,  and  I  know 
now  just  how  she  feels.  And  then  when  I  come 
home,  you  see,  I  can  teach  the  little  girls,  and  that 
will  be  great.  But  I  never  shall  try  to  teach  them 
spelling,  or  history,  for  you  know  I  cannot;  and  I 


PEACE.  273 

cannot  remember  to  this  day  who  Thomas  a  Bucket 
was,  and  why  they  called  him  that. 

"  Hugh  came  in  just  now,  and  I  asked  him  that, 
and  he  laughed,  and  said  Thomas  a  Bucket  was  cer 
tainly  pale  before  they  got  through  with  him.  I 
don't  know  what  he  means,  but  he  says  you  will,  so 
I  write  it  down.  Good-bye,  dearest,  darling  Marga 
ret.  Give  heaps  and  oceans  and  lots  of  love  to  Uncle 
John,  and  most  of  all  to  your  own  darling  self,  from 

"  PEGGY." 

"I  wonder  how  Peggy  will  get  on  at 
school?"  said  Margaret.  "Very  well,  I 
should  think.  Certainly  no  one  can  help 
liking  her,  dear  girl;  and  she  will  learn  a 
great  deal,  I  am  sure." 

"  She'll  never  learn  English  history/'  said 
Mr.  Montfort ;  "  but  after  all,  there  are  other 
things,  May  Margaret,  though  you  are  loth 
to  acknowledge  it." 

"  And  now  for  Kita.  I'll  just  run  through 
it  again,  Uncle  John,  to  see  —  oh !  oh,  yes ! 
The  first  part  is  all  just  that  she  wants  to  see 
me,  and  so  on,  —  her  wild  way.  She  has  had 
the  most  wonderful  summer,  — '  the  Pyrenees, 
Margaret!  Never  before  have  I  seen  great 
mountains,  that  scale  the  heavens,  you  under- 


274  MARGARET   MONTFORT. 

stand.  The  Titans  are  explained  to  me.  I 
have  seen,  and  my  soul  has  arisen  to  their 
height.  I  could  dwell  with  thee,  Marguerite, 
on  snow-peaks  tinged  with  morning  rose, 
peaks  that  touch  the  stars,  that  veil  them 
selves  in  clouds  of  evening;'  perhaps  I'll 
skip  a  little  here.  Uncle  John.  Interlaken, 
—  the  Jungfrau,  —  oh,  she  is  having  a  glo 
rious  time.  Oh !  oh,  dear  me,  uncle  !  " 

"  Well,  my  dear  ?  She  has  not  fallen  off 
the  Jungfrau?" 

"  No,  not  that ;  but  she  —  she  is  —  or  she 
thinks  she  is  —  going  to  be  married." 

Mr.  Montfort  whistled.  «  To  the  Matter- 
horn,  or  to  some  promising  young  avalanche  ? 
Pray  enlighten  me,  my  dear." 

"  Oh !  don't  laugh,  Uncle  John,  I  am  afraid 
it  may  be  serious.  A  young  Cuban,  she  says, 
a  soldier,  of  course."  Margaret  ran  her  eyes 
down  the  page,  but  found  nothing  sober 
enough  to  read  aloud.  "  He  seems  to  be  a 
very  wonderful  person,"  she  said,  timidly. 
"Handsome,  and  a  miracle  of  courage,  —  and 
a  military  genius;  if  war  should  come,  Kita 
thinks  he  will  be  commander-in-chief  of  the 


PEACE.  275 

Cuban  army.     You  don't  think  it  will  really 
come  to  war,  Uncle  John  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell,  Margaret,"  said  Mr.  Mont- 
fort,  gravely.  "  Things  are  looking  rather 
serious,  but  no  one  can  see  just  what  is  coming 
yet.  And  this  seems  to  be  a  bona  fide  engage 
ment  ?  It  isn't  little  Fernando,  is  it  ?  " 

"  No  !  oh,  no  !  She  says  —  she  is  sorry  for 
Fernando,  but  he  will  always  be  her  brother. 
This  one's  name  is  —  let  me  see.  Jose  Maria 
Salvador  Santillo  de  Santayana.  What  a  mag 
nificent  name !  He  had  followed  her  from 
Cuba,  and  he  has  Uncle  Richard's  permission 
to  pay  his  addresses  to  Rita,  and  she  says  — 
she  says  he  is  the  dream  of  her  life,  embodied 
in  the  form  of  a  Greek  hero,  with  the  soul  of 
a  poet,  and  the  intellect  of  a  Shakespeare.  So 
I  suppose  it  is  all  right,  uncle ;  only,  she  is 
very  young." 

"Young!  My  dear  child,  she  was  grown 
up  while  you  were  still  in  the  nursery,"  said 
Mr.  Montfort.  "  According  to  Spanish  ideas, 
it  is  high  time  for  her  to  be  married,  and  I 
am  sure  I  wish  the  dear  girl  all  happiness. 
We  must  look  over  the  family  trinkets, 


276  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

Margaret,  and  find  something  for  our  bird 
of  Paradise.  There  are  some  pretty  bits  of 
jewelry;  but  that  will  keep.  Now,  if  you 
can  stop  wondering  and  romancing  for  a 
moment,  May  Margaret,  I,  too,  have  a  letter, 
about  which  I  wish  to  consult  you." 

"  Yes,  uncle,  oh,  yes !  I  hope  he  is  good 
as  well  as  handsome,  don't  you?  She  says 
the  Santillo  nose  is  the  marvel  of  all  Cuba." 

"  The  Santillo  nose  may  be  pickled  in  brine, 

my  dear,  for  ought  I  care  ;  I  really  want  your 

attention,  Margaret,  and  you  must  come  down 

'from  the  clouds.     Here  is  Anthony  Montfort 

writing  for  his  children." 

"  What !  "  cried  Margaret,  waking  suddenly 
from  her  dream.  "  What  did  you  say  about 
the  children,  Uncle  John?  Cousin  Anthony 
writing  for  them  ?  What  can  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Why,  my  love,  I  mean  writing  for  them," 
said  Mr.  Montfort,  calmly.  "  He  is,  you  may 
remember,  a  relation  of  theirs,  a  father  in 
point  of  fact.  He  has  found  an  excellent 
opening  in  California,  and  means  to  stay 
there.  He  says  — I'll  read  you  his  letter,  or 
the  part  of  it  that  relates  to  the  children* 


PEACE.  277 

jjum  —  <  grateful  to  you '  —  ha  !  yes,  here  it 
is.  'Of  course  I  must  make  some  arrange 
ment  about  the  children.  One  of  the  boys 
can  come  to  me,  but  I  cannot  take  care  of 
both,  so  Basil  will  have  to  go  to  boarding- 
school,  and  Susan  D.,  too.  If  you  would  be 
so  good  as  to  look  up  a  good  school  or  two,  I 
should  be  ever  so  much  obliged.  Basil  can 
take  care  of  himself,  you'll  only  have  to  con 
sign  and  ship  him ;  perhaps  you  can  get  some 
one  to  go  with  the  little  girl,  and  see  to  her 
things  and  all  that.  It's  a  shame  to  call  upon 
you/  —  h'm!  so  forth!  Well,  Meg,  what  do 
you  say  ?  " 

But  Margaret  said  nothing.  She  was  sit 
ting  with  her  hands  fallen  on  her  lap,  gazing 
at  her  uncle  with  a  face  of  such  piteous  con 
sternation  that  he  had  much  ado  to  keep  his 
countenance. 

"  Take  them  away  !  "  she  faltered,  presently. 
"  Take  away  —  my  children  ?  Oh,  Uncle 
John ! " 

Mr.  Montfort  looked  away,  and  smoked 
awhile  in  silence,  giving  the  girl  time  to  col 
lect  herself.  Margaret  struggled  with  the 


278  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

tears  that  wanted  to  rush  to  her  eyes.  She 
forced  herself  to  take  up  the  letters  that  lay 
in  her  lap  and  fold  them  methodically.  When 
he  saw  that  her  hands  trembled  less,  Mr. 
Montfort  said,  quietly,  "The  children  have 
been  a  great  deal  of  care  to  you,  Margaret; 
but  you  have  grown  fond  of  them,  I  know, 
and  so  have  I.  I  think  a  good  deal  of  your 
judgment,  my  dear,  young  as  you  are.  What 
would  you  like  best  to  have  done  about  the 
little  people  ?  Take  time ;  take  time  !  An 
thony  practically  leaves  the  whole  matter  in 
my  hands.  In  fact,  I  think  he  is  puzzled, 
and  feels  perhaps  that  he  has  not  done  as  well 
as  he  might  for  them  always.  Take  time,  my 
child/' 

"  Oh,  I  don't  need  any  time,  Uncle  John !  " 
cried  Margaret,  trying  to  speak  steadily.  "  I 
—  I  didn't  realise,  I  suppose  —  it  has  all  come 
about  so  gradually  —  I  didn't  realise  all  that 
they  were  to  me.  To  lose  Basil  and  Susan 
D.,  —  I  don't  see  how  I  can  let  them  go, 
uncle ;  I  don't  indeed.  You  won't  think  me 
ungrateful,  will  you,  dear  ?  I  was,  oh,  so 
happy,  before  they  came ;  but  now  —  they 


PEACE. 


279 


are  so  dear,  so  dear!  and  —  and  Susan  D.  is 
used  to  me,  and  to  have  her  go  to  a  stranger 
who  might  not  understand  the  poor  little 
shut-up  nature  —  oh,  how  can  I  bear  it  ?  how 
can  I  bear  it  ?  " 

"  Well,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Montfort,  com 
fortably.  "  How  if  you  did  not  have  to  bear 
it?" 

Then,  as  Margaret  raised  her  startled  eyes 
to  his,  he  went  on,  in  the  kind,  steady  tone 
that  always  brought  quiet  and  peace  with 
it. 

"How  if  we  made  the  present  arrange 
ment —  part  of  it,  at  least  —  permanent? 
Let  Merton  go  to  his  father;  I  should  not  care 
to  have  the  bringing  up  of  Merton.  But  there 
is  an  excellent  school  near  here,  on  the  island, 
to  which  Basil  could  go,  staying  the  week 
and  coming  home  here  for  Sunday;  and  if 
little  Susan  would  not  be  too  much  care  for 
you,  —  she's  a  dear  little  girl,  once  you  get 
through  the  prickles,  —  why,  May  Margaret, 
it  seems  to  me  —  " 

But  Mr.  Montfort  got  no  further;  for 
here  was  Margaret  sobbing  on  his  breast  as  if 


280  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

she  were  Rita  herself,  and  calling  him  the 
best  and  dearest  and  kindest,  and  telling  him 
that  she  was  so  happy,  so  happy ;  and  that 
was  why  she  was  crying,  only  she  could  not 
stop;  and  so  on  and  so  on,  till  Uncle  John 
really  thought  he  should  have  to  send  for 
Frances.  At  his  suggesting  this,  however, 
Margaret  laughed  through  her  tears,  and 
presently  struggled  into  something  like  com 
posure. 

"And,  after  all,"  said  Mr.  Montfort,  "how 
do  you  know  the  children  will  want  to  stay 
with  you,  you  conceited  young  woman  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Uncle  John  !  I  will  teach  Susan  D. 
all  I  know,  and  a  great  deal  more,  I  hope,  for 
I  shall  be  learning  all  the  time  now,  if  I  have 
another  coming  after  me.  And  we  will  keep 
house  together,  and  it  will  be  like  the  little 
sister,  like  little  Penelope,  Uncle  John.  And 
then  to  have  Basil  coming  home  every  week, 
all  full  of  school,  and  fun,  and  noise, — 
why,  how  perfectly  delightful  it  will  be ! 
And  I  will  not  let  them  overrun  you,  dear 
uncle;  they  have  been  good  lately,  haven't 
they?" 


PEACE.  281 

"  They  have  been  extremely  good,  my  dear. 
All  the  same,  I  think  you  would  do  well  to 
interview  them  on  the  subject,  before  you 
prepare  all  your  chickens  for  the  market. 
See,  there  are  your  two  coming  up  the  walk 
this  moment.  You  might  go  —  " 

But  Margaret  was  already  gone.  Mr. 
Montfort  watched  her  light  figure  flying 
down  the  walk,  and  thought  she  had  grown 
almost  back  into  a  child  again,  since  the 
children  came.  "And  yet  all  a  woman,"  he 
said ;  "  all  a  sweet,  wholesome,  gentle  woman. 
See  her  now  with  her  arms  around  the  child ; 
the  little  creature  clings  to  her  as  if  she  were 
the  mother  it  never  knew.  Ah  !  she  is  tell 
ing  them.  No  need  to  smother  her,  children. 
I  never  really  meant  to  separate  you;  no, 
indeed.  I  only  wanted  you  to  find  out  for 
yourselves,  as  I  have  found  out  for  myself. 
No  more  solitude  at  Fernley,  please  God; 
from  now  on,  young  faces  and  hearts,  and 
sunshine,  and  a  home;  the  future  instead  of 
the  past/' 

The  good  man  laid  down  his  cigar,  quietly 
and  carefully,  as  he  did  everything,  and 


282  MARGARET    MONTFORT. 

opened  his  arms  as  the  three,  Margaret  and 

her  children,  came  flying  towards  him ;  and 

they  ran  into  those  kind  strong   arms  and 

nestled   there,  and  looked  into  his  eyes  and 
knew  that  they  were  at  home. 


THE  END. 


THE 

"Queen  Hildegarde"  Series. 

By  Laura  E.  Richards* 
HILDEGARDE'S  HARVEST. 

Thu  fifth  volume  of  the  Hildegarde  Series.  Illustrated  with 
eight  full-page  cuts.  Square  i6mo,  cloth,  $1.25. 

A  new  volume  in  the  "  Hildegarde"  series,  some  of  the  best 
and  most  deservedly  popular  books  for  girls  issued  in  recent 
years.  This  new  volume  is  fully  equal  to  its  predecessors  in 
point  of  interest,  and  is  sure  to  renew  the  popularity  of  the 
entire  series. 

HILDEGARDE'S  NEIGHBORS. 

Fourth  volume.  Illustrated  from  original  designs.  Illus 
trated  by  L.  J.  Bridgman.  Square  i6mo,  cloth,  $1.25. 

HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

Third  volume.  Illustrated  with  original  designs  by  Merrill. 
Square  i6mo,  cloth,  $1.25. 

HILDEGARDE'S  HOLIDAY. 

Second  volume.  Illustrated  with  full-page  plates  by  Cope- 
land.  Square  i6mo,  cloth,  $1.25. 

QUEEN  HILDEGARDE. 

First  volume.  Illustrated  from  original  designs  by  Garrett 
(292  pp.)-  Square  i6mo,  cloth,  $1.25. 

"We  would  like  to  see  the  sensible,  heroine-loving  girl  in 
her  early  teens  who  would  not  like  this  book.  Not  to  Tike  it 
would  simply  argue  a  screw  loose  somewhere." — Boston  Post. 


THE  HILDEGARDE  SERIES. 

as  above.     5  vols.,  square  i6mo,  put  up  in  a  neat  box,  $6.25. 

***  Next  to  Miss  Alcott's  famous  "  LITTLE  WOMEN  "  series 
they  easily  rank,  and  no  books  that  have  appeared  in  recent 
times  may  be  more  safely  put  into  the  hands  of  a  bright,  intelli 
gent  girl  than  these  five  "  Queen  Hildegarde  "  books. 


DANA  ESTES  &  CO.,  Publishers,  Boston 


Other  Books  by  Laura  E.  Richards* 


LOVE  AND  ROCKS. 

Tall  i6mo,  handsome  cover  design,  etching  frontispiece,  $1.00. 
A  charming  story  of  one  of  the  pleasant  islands  on  the  rugged 
Maine  coast,  told  in  the  author's  most  graceful  manner. 

WHEN  I  WAS  YOUR  AGE. 

Quarto,  cloth,  gilt  top.     Illustrated,  $1.25. 

A  series  of  papers  which  has  already  delighted  the  many 
readers  of  St.  Nicholas,  now  revised  and  published  in  book 
form,  with  many  additions.  The  title  most  happily  introduces 
the  reader  to  the  charming  home  life  of  Dr.  Howe  and  Mrs. 
Julia  Ward  Howe  during  the  childhood  of  the  author,  and  one 
is  young  again  in  reading  the  delightful  sketches  of  happy  child 
life  in  this  most  interesting  family. 

GLIMPSES  OF  THE  FRENCH  COURT. 

Sketches  from  French  History.  Handsomely  illustrated 
with  a  series  of  portraits  in  etching  and  photogravure. 
Square  12010,  clot'i,  neat  cover  design,  gilt  top,  £1.50. 

SAME. 

Handsomely  bound  in  celluloid,  boxed,  $2.00. 

The  History  of  France,  during  the  eighteenth  century,  is  a 
treasure-house  of  romantic  interest,  from  which  the  author  has 
drawn  a  series  of  papers  which  will  appeal  to  all  who  care  for 
the  picturesque  in  history.  With  true  literary  touch,  she  gives 
us  the  story  of  some  of  the  salient  figures  of  this  remarkable 
period. 


DANA  ESTES  &  CO.,  Publishers,  Boston 


14  DAY  USE 

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